You Were The First Mile
by luna leigh
Summary: Emma's mission was easy; using her considerable matchmaking talents and ability to see into the human psyche, she would find a match for her roommate. But love is never easy or predictable, and what Emma finds she needs most is insight into her own heart
1. Shattered Dreams And Bright Beginnings

**You Were The First Mile**

**By Luna**

**Chapter 1:** **Shattered Dreams and Bright Beginnings**

**AN**: I would like to label this story as a companion piece to _Shine_.

You can read _You Were The First Mile_ without having read _Shine_, but they line up together and feature some of the same characters, so I feel like you'll have a better understanding of everything if you have read _Shine_.

* * *

Emma Woodhouse stared speechlessly at the face of her friend, Taylor Weston, who was looking appropriately apologetic. Until just moments earlier they had been roommates. Emma had only moved in to the new apartment a few days earlier, and her boxes still lay haphazardly about the rooms, stacked in little geometric castles. The walls smelled of fresh paint, and they were sitting on the hard metal of folding chairs because the movers weren't bringing her couch for a few days. She had been so excited to finally move out of the university dorms and into her own apartment. She had never expected that her first full day would begin in such a depressing manner.

For several moments she could do nothing but stare at Taylor, whose face looked more and more guilty as the minute passed. Taylor adjusted her dark hair in her pony tail and scratched nervously at her elbow, trying to distract herself from the uncomfortable situation. Emma wished she were dreaming. She hoped it was only a nightmare and that she would wake up very soon to find her best friend just down the hall, sleeping in her new bedroom in the posh apartment they had chosen together, but she knew very well that it was no dream. Dreams never left that bad taste in the back of her mouth.

"But you already paid your half of the security deposit," Emma finally managed to say, swallowing hard and tucking a strand of her long, blond hair behind her ear. This pragmatic statement was all she could come up with. Her elaborate dreams for senior year at Pemberley University were lying in ruin around her. She had spent all summer envisioning what the new school year would bring, and now none of it would happen.

No Friday margarita nights, even though she had bought that blender specifically for such purposes. It would remain unused and dusty on the counter, a complete waste. No more days of baking brownies and cookies or sharing meals together with Taylor. No more grocery shopping together, splitting the costs and making home cooked culinary masterpieces in their kitchen. In Emma's imagination, all their household appliances had sparkled, the chrome of the mixer shining like a silver star. No more spending hours watching pointless, trashy TV together, laughing at the poor souls who signed up to be mocked by all of America. Instead, Emma would be alone, with no one to help distract her from her school work and while away the hours. She'd be alone and she would be _lonely_.

Taylor winced at Emma's sentence. "And you can keep my half of the deposit," she said hurriedly in reply. "I know I'm a terrible friend for running out on you like this, but Michael's finally ready to commit. How many hours did you have to listen to me whine about when he was going to grow up and ask me to live with him? I thought it was never going to happen. Of course he had to wait until I'd already made plans with _you_," Taylor muttered. She looked up at Emma, pleading with her eyes. "If I don't move in with him now, I'm afraid it'll be the end for us. I'm just so happy he's finally ready to move forward with our relationship. You understand, don't you Emma?"

The nasty part of Emma's mind wanted to vehemently reply _no_, but looking into the excited face of her friend she felt the small amount of anger dissolve away, and she grabbed Taylor's hands and gave them a gentle squeeze.

"Of course I understand. You're right. You should do whatever you need. I want you to be happy with Michael."

After all the work they had done scouting out the perfect apartment, Emma couldn't believe that Taylor was seriously ditching her to move in with her boyfriend. They'd spent hours combing the city, as Emma had some serious qualifications about what type of establishment she could possibly live in. She needed large windows that let in all the sunlight. She wanted it within walking distance of the campus. She absolutely needed a gas range stove and hardwood floors. And it was very important that she was also within walking distance to one of the local bars. She needed some way to unwind after a stressful day of class, and she certainly wasn't going to drive to Boston to do it. The search had taken many weeks, but they had finally found the perfect apartment, and now Taylor was leaving her! It was inconceivable.

Taylor reached forward to give Emma a grateful hug. "I knew you would understand. Emma, you're the best. I'll still visit all the time. It'll be just the same as if I did live here with you."

"You'd better visit me," Emma replied, but she had serious misgivings. This was _not_ what she had signed up for.

Taylor stayed to chat for some time, and when she finally left, Emma set about unpacking her things, her mood seriously dampened. She felt like a pricked balloon. All summer she had imagined the greatness that would be her senior year, and she'd been abruptly forced to face the truth. Forget great. Forget mediocre even. Her senior year was possibly going to be the worst of her academic career.

She'd spent her whole summer in her home town in Connecticut, spending her time being a life guard at the local pool. She loved it because she got to loaf all day in the sun. Occasionally she blew her whistle, but mostly she just tanned. It'd provided her ample opportunity to day dream about the upcoming year. Somehow classes had never entered her head. She'd only ever thought about the evenings and weekends out with her friends. Now her best friend had left her.

She wanted Taylor to be happy, but at the same time she had difficultly fathoming why it meant so much to Taylor to move in with Michael. She couldn't understand it at all. Emma had never been interested in dating. College men weren't any more mature than they had been in high school, and she didn't want to waste her time with them. She'd had plenty of offers and she occasionally went on dates with the more attractive ones, but nothing ever became serious, and she never wanted it to. A relationship seemed like so much more trouble than it was worth. Why should she bother with commitment when there was always some boy or another who was dying to take her out on a Friday night; one she would never have to worry about again come Monday morning. When she graduated and entered the real world, she thought she might look in to finding a serious relationship, but for now she avoided them. She was young and clever, she was pretty, and she did not need to be tied down in a dysfunctional relationship.

And dysfunction was all that her peers seemed to be capable of.

Emma sighed, unwrapping glasses in the kitchen. How unfortunate it all was! She and Taylor had been basically inseparable ever since they'd shared a medieval history class their sophomore year, and now, just like that, Emma had lost her. Taylor had retreated into Relationship-Land, leaving Emma far behind. What was she going to do?

* * *

"And I'm the one who introduced them! That's the worst part. You think they would show me a little more consideration and respect, but no, Taylor just said 'there there' and then ran off to be with her boyfriend," Emma finished indignantly, wiping down the table and the plastic neon colored chairs. She had watched one of the children spill at least half of his carton of orange juice on the chair and the floor, so she knew that the seat of the bright green chair was going to be a sticky mess. Still, she scrubbed with more vigor than was actually necessary, taking her feelings of anger and betrayal out on the chair. She had put on a happy face for Taylor, but now she was free to show her real feelings. She'd been ranting for nearly ten minutes while she and Grant Knightley finished closing the daycare for the day.

Emma had volunteered at Mrs. Goddard's daycare during the first semester of her freshman year as part of a community service requirement. She had picked it from the list of options because it had seemed like the easiest one. She had always liked kids, so why not work with them? She'd had no idea that she would fall in so much love with the place. The daycare was small, located in a residential neighborhood not too far from Pemberley's campus. They watched around 12 children from the ages of three to nine. Emma and Grant worked from 3 until the day care closed at 6 o'clock.

She had loved working with the children; they brought her endless amounts of amusement, and Mrs. Goddard was kind and easy going—in short an excellent supervisor. Grant had started volunteering for his community service around the same time as Emma, and they'd both stayed on after they'd finished all their hours. After three years of steady experience Mrs. Goddard let them basically run the afternoon shift. She spent most of the time in her office, where Emma knew she was practically buried under miles of paperwork.

The daycare was offered as a free service to underprivileged families. Most of the people on staff were volunteers, and an annual charity fundraiser made up the rest of the budget. Local churches and businesses were the main contributors to funds. The toys and furniture were all donations as well. Without their help, Emma was sure the daycare wouldn't have been able to survive. Emma made sure that her father donated a sizable sum each year in the Woodhouse's name. She wanted to make sure there would always be a place for the children.

"If it weren't for me, they wouldn't even know each other," Emma said, still grumbling pettily about Taylor and Mike. She wiped crumbs and leftover pencil shavings into her hand before throwing them in the trash.

Grant was shaking his head, his light brown hair glinting in the fluorescent lights. "You did not introduce them."

Emma turned to him, her hand on her hip, a perfect picture of sass. She looked at him defiantly. "I did _too_."

Emma thought it was funny that Grant seemed to be the only person who ever contradicted her. She had a gift for leading others, but he seemed immune to her charms. Although occasionally it was refreshing, most often she wished that he would just go along with the things she said. No one else seemed to care if what she said was the complete truth or not.

Grant deposited the blocks he had been holding into the toy bin and then gave Emma a disbelieving look, a smirk playing across his mouth. "Didn't they meet at the One Act play performances?"

"Yes, but only because I got sick and left early. Then Michael just happened to sit in the seat next to Taylor, which wouldn't have been empty except for me." Emma turned away loftily and continued wiping down the table. "See. All because of me."

Grant laughed and scoffed, walking over to straighten the small plastic chairs on the other side of the table. "I see. So because you were too hung-over to sit through a play, Taylor owes you for her entire relationship. Obviously, the only thing holding them together is the fact that they met by sitting next to each other. There's no way they actually _like_ each other."

Emma couldn't help laughing at that, and she caught his eye. "It was divine intervention, you see. I couldn't have picked a better time to throw up."

"It was luck. If it hadn't happened then, they would have met another way. Mike was always interested in her. I doubt you had anything to do with it at all."

Emma flipped her hair over her shoulder, tired of the discussion. She knew she was right, and she didn't care if Grant believed her or not. "In any case, that's not the point."

"There was a point to all this? I hadn't realized…" Grant said sarcastically.

"Knightley, what am I going to do?" Emma asked forlornly, ignoring his previous statement. "I can't live alone all year; I'll go crazy. In two months you'll find me in the corner drinking cooking sherry and eating my own hair." Emma had started seriously, but was straying far in to the ridiculous. "I'll have on a big, flowery muumuu from K-mart and a bonnet made of tin foil so that the aliens can't get my brains." She could have continued but Grant interrupted, laughing at her.

"On the bright side, you wouldn't really need a roommate; you could have perfectly good conversations with yourself."

She laughed in surprise, her smile wide and carefree. She held up her hands a few moments later. "Okay, I'm serious now. What should I do?" She gave him a pleading look. As much as she joked with him, she valued his opinion highly. He was a senior, like her, but unlike her, he always seemed to know exactly what to do. He was a master of common sense. She knew he never did stupidly impulsive things that he seriously regretted later, like she did. Each of his actions was carefully calculated and planned, and he generally made the right move. Emma envied him for it.

"And it's safe to say that you don't need someone to help pay the rent," he began, and Emma mouthed the word 'No'. Her father was an extremely wealthy banker, and he was paying for everything.

Grant nodded, and Emma watched his slate blue eyes stare off in to the distance, going blank for a moment while he thought. He turned and focused on her again. "Why don't you put up a flier around campus? I'm sure someone is looking for a place to live." He shrugged. "If that doesn't work, I might know some people who'd be interested."

Emma smiled slowly as what he had said sank in. It was the perfect idea, of course. She'd been too distraught to even think about a new roommate, but she was sure it would be easy to find someone. People put up those fliers all the time in the mail room. It would work perfectly because she would have all the power to choose who she wanted to live with. She'd give some interviews and pick the best candidate. Most importantly, she'd no longer be alone.

"That's brilliant. Thanks Knightley!"

He gave her a wry smile, and she helped him finish stacking the chairs. She looked around the room to check for anything more to do, but they were finished cleaning. Emma was always amazed by how trashed the room was by the end of the day. The children were like little tornadoes, flinging away everything in their paths. The toys were always far out of place, the chairs were halfway across the room, and Emma didn't know how, but there were always leftover articles of clothing like socks lying in the corners and under the tables.

Even when the room was empty, Emma got the impression of children, like their echoes were still running, laughing, and playing. She smiled before turning off the light. Grant was already waiting by the door. They walked outside together, separating as they walked to their vehicles. She waved goodbye to him as she got into her car. She couldn't wait to get home to make her fliers. How many exciting possibilities there were in getting a new roommate.

* * *

Emma smoothed her hair and adjusted her small head-band. She'd worn it because it was trendy, but it was hurting her ears. She didn't like the way it poked. She paced restlessly for a moment before walking to the bathroom to check her reflection. She immediately got rid of the headband and ran her hands through her hair to straighten out the kinks. She looked in to her own brown eyes for a moment thoughtfully before deciding to put on a little lip gloss. She was interviewing two people who had responded to her flier, and the first candidate was due at any time.

Emma reviewed what she knew already. Harriet Smith was coming to the apartment at one o'clock. She was technically a senior like Emma, but she had transferred in to Pemberley her sophomore year, and so she was registered as a junior. Emma knew she played soccer, but had never met Harriet before. They didn't seem to associate with the same group of people outside of class.

The intercom buzzed, and Emma snapped the top back onto her lip gloss. She hurried over to let Harriet up. She had time to smooth her shirt and pick off a few pieces of lint before there was a timid knock at the door. Emma put on a bright, false smile before swinging the door open. Emma felt her smile ease in to something a bit more natural as she got a good look at Harriet. She looked nervous, but neat and presentable, and Emma thought she was easily one of the prettiest people she had seen up close. They were opposites, and perhaps that was why Emma thought her so striking. Emma's hair was long and honey blond while Harriet's was chestnut brown. Her eyes were dark blue and Emma's were brown, and Emma, being rather tall and lanky for a girl, was a good six inches taller than petite Harriet.

Emma liked her immediately. She seemed harmless and good-natured, like a little bird. "I'm Emma," she said, offering her hand. She ushered Harriet inside. "It's nice to be able to put a face with your voice. Let me show you the apartment."

She saw Harriet's awestruck expression and smiled to herself. She was used to the apartment, but she could see how nice it looked through Harriet's eyes. The dark, hardwood floors matched the woodwork on the large windows and expansive arches. It looked expensive and impressive. Emma's furniture and decorations gave the rooms a bright, airy feel, and all the rooms looked professionally decorated, not like a college student's first apartment. The staple beer posters and tacky Christmas lights were nowhere in sight. Emma had a knack for décor and she knew it. Still, she felt inclined to let Harriet in on the downsides.

"The floors are really creaky, so they're not good for light sleepers. I'm sure the windows will be really drafty in the winter. There's only one bathroom, and its cabinets aren't really functional…" But every feature on Harriet's face expressed delight.

"This place is _amazing_."

Emma glowed with pleasure and showed Harriet into the empty bedroom. "My bedroom is down the hall. But this one has a pretty nice sized closet too." Emma watched as Harriet explored the apartment like a small child, muttering the word 'wow' over and over.

As they came to the close of the tour, Harriet turned to Emma excitedly. "This place is great. I'm definitely interested. I would love to live here. You know, I always wondered where you lived," Harriet said shyly. She blushed lightly and looked down. "I always saw you walking around campus last year, and I thought you looked so put together and trendy. You looked so cool. I was nervous to meet you today. I thought that there was no way a girl like _that_ could be nice, but you are."

Emma put her hand on her chest, deeply flattered. "How sweet," she murmured. She made her decision in a moment. She would cancel her other interviews. She no longer cared about the other applicants. Harriet was obviously the best candidate. She took a breath and spread her arms out wide, encompassing the room. "The apartment is yours, if you don't mind sharing it with me," Emma joked.

Harriet looked up in surprise. "_Really_? But we haven't talked about costs. I really don't know if I can afford…I can only pay so much…"

Harriet stammered the amount that she could pay. Her offer for rent was much below the actual costs, but Emma waved her off, unconcerned. Money was not an issue. Her father would take care of it. Harriet looked dumbstruck, but Emma was filled with glee. She loved the fact that she could help Harriet. She was such a darling girl; she deserved the apartment.

Harriet broke out into a shy, dimpled smile, still blinking away her surprise. "Wow. When can I move in?"


	2. The Greatest of Intentions

You Were The First Mile

By Luna

Chapter 2: The Greatest of Intentions

* * *

Emma was never happy unless she had some kind of project to keep her occupied.

She had to keep busy, otherwise a restless, nagging feeling crept into her bones and she ended up doing something impulsive, spur of the moment, generally ill-planned and badly executed. She had the proof in all the unfinished scarves and blankets she'd tried to knit, the scrapbooks with only a few of the pages decorated, the paint by numbers with only a few colors filled, and the new books she'd never quite got around to reading, with perfect spines and pristine corners. As soon as her first excitement dwindled down, she couldn't be bothered to complete anything. She had the ambition and the greatest of intentions, but none of the perseverance needed to complete half of the things she started. She was simply too impetuous.

She couldn't have felt better about Harriet moving in because suddenly there were hundreds of small things to get accomplished. She didn't have the time or the space to be bored. First, there were boxes and furniture to haul inside and unpack. She still had several boxes of her own to put away too, along with everything of Harriet's. She liked how easily the apartment seemed to absorb Harriet's things. The rooms had been all her own, but now there were touches of Harriet everywhere, her toothbrush in the bathroom, her plates and cups in the cupboards, a few of her posters on the wall.

After they finally managed to arrange all of their possessions, the business of actually getting to know one another came next. Harriet was such a pretty girl, and Emma wanted to be friends with her. And Emma almost always got what she wanted.

This wish was made difficult at first by Harriet's shy demeanor. Harriet was timid, always afraid of making a blunder or saying the wrong thing. She stuttered and turned bashful the moment Emma started up a conversation. Emma was very flattered to have someone so much in awe of her around, but she wished that Harriet might loosen up a bit She wasn't _that_ intimidating, after all.

Harriet soon became her next big project. It wasn't difficult for her; she'd always known how to talk to people. She simply had to figure out where to start with Harriet.

One night, she ordered Chinese take-out for both of them. Harriet had been moved in for almost a week and Emma was tired of the civil, polite, _dull_ conversations they always seemed to have. She was ready to move a little deeper than that, and she knew just what would help Harriet lose some of her reserve.

Emma opened a bottle of wine, and poured them each a glass, enjoying the quiet glugging noises it made flowing out. She had always felt that there was something so grown-up about ordering food and the feeling was enhanced now that she was in her own apartment. Apparently independence floated out of the small white cartons with red temples on the side along with the spicy, peanut-oily smell of the food.

"I know the words 'Chinese food' and 'wine' usually aren't synonymous, but I wanted to celebrate you being all settled," Emma said, raising her glass. They had officially unpacked all of their belongings.

Harriet smiled, surprised and happy, a bit of pink tingeing her cheeks as she clunked her glass lightly on Emma's. "Thank you," was all she dared to say.

Emma furrowed her brow. It wouldn't do; she had to get Harriet to open up. She quickly came up with a topic she knew would get Harriet talking.

"I was thinking about you earlier today. Transferring schools must have been really difficult for you." Here Harriet nodded emphatically. "Why did you transfer? What was your other school like?"

Harriet's mouth, with its natural pout, turned down further into a little frown. She took a sip before speaking. "It was awful. I didn't have any friends, no one to talk to, and my roommate was so _mean_. The professors didn't seem to care at all. I had no motivation to do my school work. I wasn't interested or engaged in anything. I just always stayed in my room. I really hated it."

Emma sighed sympathetically, but she was very pleased with how the conversation was going. Harriet had started out haltingly, but as the amount of wine in her glass got smaller and as she got more in to her own story she became more animated, gesturing wildly. It seemed she had only needed some encouragement and an interested listener. Emma provided both.

"—then after I transferred, everything was better immediately. I was meeting people, and I loved my classes. Some friends convinced me to try out for the soccer team. I had played in high school, but quit when I was at my other school. I missed it a lot. I think it was partly why I was so unhappy. It felt so good to start it up again. It really gives you a sense of camaraderie. Your teammates become like your sisters."

"I always wanted a sister," Emma mused, swirling the wine in her glass. "I always felt like I missed out on something, not having any siblings. But my parents divorced when I was very young, and then my mother died, so there wasn't a chance."

Harriet nodded. "You're not missing much." Harriet had many younger siblings. "Especially being the eldest. My parents were always the strictest with me. I always wanted to be an only child. You get so much more attention."

Emma laughed. "I guess everybody wants a taste of the life they didn't get."

* * *

As the days passed, Harriet continued to confide in Emma, and in no time they'd become close. Emma liked developing their friendship; Harriet was just so adorable. They didn't say it, but Emma had come to regard Harriet as the younger sister she'd never had. She hoped Harriet would look up to her in return.

Harriet wasn't exactly a kindred spirit, but Emma enjoyed her friendship nonetheless. Emma didn't know whether it was because Harriet was so much shorter than her physically, or whether there was something inherent in the nature of their friendship, but she couldn't help but mother Harriet. She just had an urge to help the girl reach her full potential. She seemed so sheltered and naïve, and Emma had so many things to teach her about life. She felt just like a wiser, older sister.

Emma's timing was perfect, really, because as soon as she'd completed project Get-to-Know-Harriet, fall semester began and she had all her classes to keep her occupied. Though sometimes it had felt like she would never make it, her last year had finally arrived. She had tried to give herself a lighter schedule than in other years, but she wasn't certain she had succeeded. During the first week she didn't have much time to spare as she got herself organized for the upcoming months. One thing was for certain: she had a lot of research to do before she could even think about writing her senior thesis, which was a frightening and daunting task in itself.

Emma had been looking forward to her senior year for almost all of her academic career. In her mind, the words were tinged with gold. She liked the idea of appearing as the intimidating and wise upperclassman. She'd faced the stigma of being a lowly freshman, and now it was her turn to rule the school. Not that she actually planned on terrorizing anyone. Appearing intimidating and untouchable was quite enough for her. She didn't have many opportunities to implement her ideas as she wasn't ever around any freshman. She didn't share classes with them, and she didn't go out to many of the open parties on campus any longer.

Oddly enough though, what she mostly felt during the first weeks was not triumph or achievement, but a sense of loneliness. The people she had been closest with through the years had all graduated and left her behind, and she didn't really know any of the younger students. As Taylor had suddenly become distant because of her boyfriend, Emma was very glad indeed to have Harriet as a friend.

She was sitting in her living room surrounded by five open History textbooks when Harriet came home from her classes one evening. She was on the phone. Emma snapped out of her daydream to listen to Harriet's end of the conversation.

Emma squinted her eyes, giving Harriet a calculating glance. Harriet's voice was much higher than normal, and she was even _giggling_ from time to time. Emma knew it had to be a boy. But which one?

One thing she had learned right away was how much Harriet loved the concept of love. All the DVDs she owned were love stories. She watched every romantic movie that came on the TV and the sappier the better. Harriet was always ready with a box of tissues and the insatiable urge to root for the underdog, be it the homely girl next door or the hopeless geek, pining away for the prom king or queen. It was obvious that she wanted her own sappy love-fest.

She was fairly obsessed with the idea of finding someone to love. Unlike Emma, she'd come to college with the 'ring by spring' concept ingrained into her, and unfortunately for Harriet, she had never found the man to give her the ring. Emma knew she was always on the look out. She went on more dates in a month than Emma had been on in her whole life, and yet somehow they never worked out. Harriet was unlucky in love.

Her rebound rate was even more astounding to Emma. Harriet would come back from a bad date completely devastated. She'd mope and cry for days at a time, eating pints of ice cream and watching _The Notebook _on repeat, and then suddenly a week later go out on another date with someone new like she hadn't been crying her eyes out only 24 hours earlier. Harriet was not the type of girl Emma was used to living with.

When Harriet hung up her cell-phone , Emma gave her a knowing look. "So who're you flirting with now?"

Harriet laughed, looking sheepish. "There's this boy…"

Emma moved her books off the sofa to make room for Harriet, who rushed over to sit by her.

"We both took a math course this summer, and we've been talking ever since then. He's so funny. I have the biggest thing for him."

"And his name _is_?" Emma asked impatiently, laughing. She wondered which of their acquaintances it was. She'd introduced Harriet to a lot of the boys she knew. Hadn't Bret taken that class…?

Harriet grinned. "It's Rob Martin." A dreamy look came over her face.

Emma, on the other hand, was not impressed. Her own standards for a potential boyfriend were nearly impossible to meet, and her standards for her friends were almost equally as impenetrable.

"Isn't he younger than us?" was all she had to say, her tone incredulous.

She thought she'd had a class with him her sophomore year. Or had it been her junior year. Didn't he have brown hair—or maybe it was blond. She had a vague idea that he wore glasses. Whatever his looks, Emma knew that he'd made no impression on her whatsoever, which was a terrible sign in a potential love interest for her friend. Harriet needed someone with personality: someone with verve.

Worse, Emma knew that Robert was one of those computer tech nerds. In her experience, those boys were generally very nice and always _weird_. She was sure Robert wouldn't be any different. Emma briefly imagined inviting him over to the house for a party or a small get together, shuddering at the thought; who knew what kind of awkward situations he would cause. Emma wouldn't stand for it. Harriet could do so much better! She wanted the best for her new friend, and the best was most certainly not Rob Martin.

Worse still, Emma didn't know what she would do if she lost another roommate to a boy!

Harriet's face fell slightly at Emma's lack of enthusiasm. Emma had risen to the occasion for all of her other dates, so this lack of response was significant. Her opinion held a lot of sway for Harriet.

"Yeah, he's only a sophomore…but he's really mature…"

Emma grasped one of Harriet's hands. "I'm sure he is," she consoled. "But, to be honest, I'm sure you could find someone much better."

Someone whose face could actually be remembered from one moment to the next, was the snide thought in Emma's head.

Harriet was looking confused and disappointed even, her eyes wide. "You think so?"

Emma nodded vigorously. "Of course. With your looks and personality you could have anyone you wanted. I'm not saying to stop being friends with Rob or ignore his calls. That's ridiculous." Emma shook her head. "I'm simply…_suggesting_ that you keep your options open. It's only the first week of school. You don't want to be tied down already, and Harriet, you could get anyone you want—why settle for any old thing? I know there's a top-notch man out there just waiting for you."

Harriet was making little nods with her head. Conviction was a foreign idea to her, and she had certainly never held one of her own in the face of opposition. She no longer looked dazed. "I think—I think you're right."

Emma nodded, smiling. "Of course I am. And I'm going to spend the whole night picking out someone perfect for you." Emma had a huge number of acquaintances at school. Half of the time, she couldn't remember how she had actually become acquainted with them, but she still nodded or waved when she passed people around the campus that she vaguely knew. She was pretty and friendly; it had never been a problem for her to meet people. She was sure it wouldn't be hard to find someone a little more exciting than Rob Martin for her friend. Harriet needed to get the full Pemberley experience, and Emma definitely knew some boys that could give it to her.

Harriet looked excited and pleased. "Okay!"

"Let's order some food and then we can brain storm together. You can tell me what all you're looking for. The tall, sensitive type? Or maybe someone more brawny…This is going to be too much fun."

Conveniently forgetting her senior thesis, Emma reached for her phone. She had found herself a new project.

* * *

Emma went through every male name in her cell phone with Harriet, searching. After much deliberation, she'd narrowed it down to, in her humble opinion, two very eligible candidates. Now she simply had to choose which one was the best. She was still deep in thought about it at the daycare the following day.

She daydreamed about the soon-to-be bliss Harriet was to experience. In her mind, it always ended with Harriet as the radiant bride in white satin, with Emma in a stunning red silk dress as the maid of honor by her side. In her speech, she would be able to say, humbly, how she had set the two of them up. She was so caught up in all the details of planning the wedding that she accidentally gave Henry a carton of milk instead of orange juice during snack time.

He adjusted his glasses and tugged lightly on her shirt hem as she started to walk away.

"Miss Emma, I'm lactose intolerant," he said in his quiet voice. The large word took him a moment to wrap his tongue around. "That means I can't have milk. Or cheese. Or ice cream." This last word was said rather bitterly. He sighed and pointed to the bag of cereal in front of him that he'd brought from home. "Cereal is only good with no milk—otherwise bad things happen." He rubbed his stomach and Emma laughed.

"I'm so sorry, Henry. No milk—that's right."

She switched his milk for an orange juice and lightly patted his brown curly hair. His hair was soft and warm under her fingers. Henry was one of her two favorite children. At 6 years old, he was already the biggest hypochondriac she had ever met. She and Grant made a real effort to get him to try new, different things, as it was painfully obvious that his home life offered a very narrow window of experience. She prayed he wouldn't grow up as rigid and strict as his mother.

Emma still remembered the day they had all stood in a circle in the back courtyard and played Frisbee. Henry had resisted the most, but in the end had loved the game the best of all the children. He'd continued tossing it back and forth with Grant long after all the others had lost interest. Henry only needed a little prodding now and then.

"Mommy says no cereal either unless it doesn't have gluten in it." He squinted and looked up at her curiously. "What's gluten? Is it in candy too? 'Cause I can't have that either."

Looking down into his inquisitive face, Emma couldn't resist smiling. "If your mom says so, then I think it must be true. She knows best."

Emma had to pass out the rest of the drinks, but before she turned away she heard him wonder aloud, "Is this organic orange juice?" and she couldn't keep the smirk from her face.

Grant walked over to her once she'd finished handing out the drinks. "Giving Henry milk?" He shook his head. "You must really have something on your mind," he teased and she laughed, sure they were both remembering Henry's first day at the daycare center when his mother lectured for at least ten minutes about the entire extent of his numerous allergies and how very important it was that he Not Drink Milk.

"I know; what a catastrophe that would have been. I'm sure she'd want me to get out the EpiPen just because he touched the carton."

He laughed, but wasn't deterred. He was still looking curiously at her, his head tilted. "Anything wrong?"

"No, no." She tried to shrug it off, but she knew he wouldn't let it go so easily. She sighed. "If you must know, I've decided to set up Harriet with Phil Elton. At first, she was thinking about Rob Martin-this sophomore whose face you forget even while you're looking at him-but I convinced her otherwise. She's been just dying to date someone, and I know Phil is still single. I was distracted thinking about what would be the best way to do it. I want them both to get a good impression of the other, but in a low-stress kind of way."

A few minutes earlier, Emma had decided on Phil for Harriet. She'd had her first year seminar with him and they'd remained acquaintances. He'd always been friendly toward her. He was charming, although sometimes a little crude and rather fond of skipping class, if Emma remembered correctly. Emma had specific standards for herself, and Phil wasn't her type in the slightest, as he was more brawn than brain, and at this point more beer bloat than brawn, but Harriet had said she liked large, football boys with large football necks, and so Emma was sure she'd be attracted to Phil.

Grant was looking skeptical. She could practically feel it radiating from his eyes. It was one of those patented looks he used only for her, a mixture of half-vexed amusement and complete disbelief. "So one of them asked you for help with this? Is that what happened"

He was trying to look in her eyes, but she avoided his gaze, looking out instead at the children who were all being docile, eating their snacks.

"N_o_. Not _exactly_." She caught the brief slag of his shoulders as he sighed, and she could tell he was about to interrupt, so she hurriedly said, "But they'll be so perfect together! I know it. He's all Harriet's been looking for, and I know he'll love her. They're just asking to be helped, to be turned in the right direction." She shifted to look at him, and a small part of him seemed amused, but mostly his face showed exasperation.

"Emma—" he began in a tone that instantly made her defensive, like she was a dog who had just been caught rooting its nose through the trash bin.

"_What_? There is nothing wrong with helping friends."

"It'd be fine if that's what you were actually doing, but we both know it's not. What was wrong with the first guy that she liked? Other than the fact that he didn't interest _you_," Grant said, before Emma could interject. "If Harriet thinks he's interesting, then it's not your problem. And anyway, _Phil_? Emma, there's no way you're serious."

Emma looked at him, offended by his condescending tone. Before either could reply, they both heard a tiny voice saying 'Miss Emma' from somewhere in the room, and Emma waved him off, hurrying over to help before Grant could add anything else.

She managed to avoid him by staying busy with the children for the last 10 minutes. She knew he was going to try to use logic to make her understand some silly point he was trying to make, and she didn't want to listen. Her dream of wedded bliss for Harriet was too new to be destroyed so early on. Maybe he didn't approve, but she knew she wasn't doing anything bad. Her intentions were only for good things to happen. Harriet wanted to find someone to love so badly; Emma was just trying to make it happen for her.

Later, he caught up to her outside in the parking lot as she clicked the button to unlock her car.

Grant opened his mouth to speak, but Emma cut him off, turning from her car to face him.

"I already know what you're going to say so you can save yourself the trouble. 'I'm wrong to mess around in their affairs. As much as I'd like it, they're not my own, personal playthings, but real people, and everyone involved would be much better off if I left it alone'," she said, mocking Grant's way of talking fairly accurately.

He blinked and raised one shoulder to shrug. "Well—no, that's not what I was going to say, although it's all true. I was going to say that you're wrong. Phil and Harriet aren't compatible."

Emma huffed indignantly, swinging her hair off her shoulder. She fiddled with her keys and squinted at him in the fading sunlight. She wondered if the soft glow from the sun was making her look as angelic as it was making him. Not that he would have noticed.

With anyone else, she would have used it to her advantage, playing up her looks to win the argument, but not with Grant. He was too annoyed with her, and Emma had decided long ago that Grant Knightley was made up of rocks. Stoic, immovable, and unfeeling toward all things like fading sunlight and glowing hair.

"What would you know?" she talked back, reverting, as always in such situations, to the maturity of a 15 year old. "You don't even know Harriet."

Ever the adult, he only grinned in response to her taunting. "No, but I do know Phil, and you talked nonstop about Harriet for a week, so I've got a pretty good idea about her too." Grant shook his head. "She's not the type of girl he goes for. She's too eager and he likes the chase."

"Oh please. Harriet is everyone's type." She waved him off. "You'll see. They'll be just like Taylor and Mike."

Grant looked as though he might say more, but then thought better of it. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and looked down at the pavement, a resigned smile on his face. He'd had many years to practice such futile arguments with Emma. She was too stubborn to listen to any advice until all of her plans blew up in her face. He shifted his gaze to her, and she looked in to his clear, intelligent eyes. "Okay, Emma. Whatever you say."

"You don't mean that; you're just saying it to shut me up."

He nodded. "Basically, yes."

She ignored his last sentence. She didn't much care what he thought about her plan anyway. He obviously didn't realize the amount of thought she had put in to her idea. It wasn't as if she had preemptively rushed into a terrible decision…

And although Grant was definitely attractive, Emma had noticed through the years that he didn't pay much attention to the other sex. He seemed to date about as often as she did, which was seldom. What would he know about someone like Phil or Harriet? Rocks don't go on blind dates, after all.

"Good. I'm glad that's settled then. I'll make sure you get an invitation to their wedding. Make sure you don't wear that blue tie of yours to their reception; it won't go with the color scheme. 'Bye Knightley." She opened her door and waved as she got in, and he gave her a nod, though she saw him shake his head afterward.

She sighed as she put the key into the ignition. It was obvious that he disapproved, but she knew she was right, and she wasn't going to let him make her feel bad about what she was doing. Phil and Harriet _were_ right for each other. Once they spent a little time together they'd see it too. She'd get to prove Grant wrong _and_ make her friend happy in the meantime. It was a win-win situation.


	3. Love In The Undertones

You Were The First Mile

By Luna

Chapter 3: Love in the Undertones

* * *

The real difficulty was how exactly to get Phil and Harriet together. In Emma's daydreams, they started out already in love and Emma continued from there. It was proving more difficult in real life to get her plan in motion, but Emma had an idea brewing.

She and Phil had never been close, but they did go out in groups together upon occasion. She knew there was a particular bar that he often went to on weeknights and meeting him there, unexpectedly, would be a perfect, low stress way to introduce him to Harriet. If, for some reason, he wasn't around, it wasn't a huge loss. They would get a drink and then leave; Emma would come up with a new plan. However, she had a feeling that Phil would be there. She needn't bother with a plan B.

Emma poked her head in Harriet's door and rapped on the frame with her knuckles. Harriet looked up from her magazine.

"Have you got any plans for tonight?"

Harriet thought for a moment and then shook her head no.

Emma smiled deviously. "Good. We're going out then. There's a bar I think we need to go check out."

"Did a new one open?" Harriet asked curiously. She and Emma never went out on weeknights and never unannounced like Emma was proposing.

"No, I was just thinking about how we needed to broaden our horizons and try something new. It's good for us. Let's go to Jeezy Pete's tonight."

Harriet looked seriously confused. She furrowed her brow. "But I thought you said to never go there. You said it was trashy, and didn't someone get stabbed there this summer?"

Emma waved her hand impatiently. Details. She didn't know why Harriet was resisting her obviously brilliant plan.

"It's fine. They got a few more bouncers. Plus, I know there's going to be a certain man there tonight, and I wanted to introduce you…"

Harriet smiled excitedly and dropped her magazine completely. She looked at Emma expectantly, her face aglow with excitement. "Did you find someone for me? Who?" she asked breathlessly.

Emma hesitated for a moment, allowing the suspense to build, and when she finally said Phil Elton, Harriet bit on her lip, looking pleasantly nervous. "Oh, he's _cute_."

"And single," Emma said loftily. "He's going to fall for you in a minute. He won't know what to do with himself."

Harriet clasped her hands together, scrambling forward to the edge of her bed. Emma hadn't seen her so worked up since the Lifetime movie marathon was on the television. "I'm so excited. He won't think it's weird that you're introducing us, will he? And what do I wear? You'll help me pick out something, won't you?"

"He won't care, and of course I'll help you."

They chose her jeans and shoes, and Harriet rummaged through her closet for a shirt. She dumped several on the bed for Emma to inspect.

"Emma, you're so good at this boy stuff. Much better than me. How come you don't date anyone?"

Emma laughed, nixing all the tops Harriet had laid out. Harriet rummaged again delving deep into her closet. "I've got no reason to chase after boys. I don't know why, but there's such a stigma around being in your 20's and staying single. All those books and movies make it seem like being single is abnormal, but I don't think it is. It's great; I love being single. I don't think I ever want to fall in love; it makes everyone act like idiots. I like my freedom too much. Who wants to have to call someone to say where you're going and who you're going with all the time?"

She'd seen Taylor do it with Mike many a time. She'd tried to look at relationships from many different angles, but had never gotten over the idea that having one would involve chaining herself down.

"I don't want to have to check in with anyone. Plus, I never meet anyone good enough. They always have some kind of annoying flaw. I guess my standards are too high, but I don't think I should have to lower them to find someone." She shrugged unconcernedly. Dating was something she didn't worry herself about.

"But don't you get lonely?" Harriet asked, looking surprised.

"Don't get me wrong, boys can be a lot of fun," Emma amended. "I'm not opposed to casually seeing someone. But once it gets serious they're always more trouble than they're worth. That one!" Emma cried, pointing to the low cut, black top Harriet held. "That's perfect."

Emma thought more about their previous topic. "I'm sure it'd be different if I found someone that I really liked, but there isn't anyone here at Pemberley for me, and why should I bother with mediocrity?"

Harriet nodded like she understood, but Emma could tell that most of what she'd said had gone right over her friend's head. She stretched and pushed herself off of Harriet's bed, where she had been lounging.

"I'll go get ready so we can leave soon. Don't worry; I'll drive."

* * *

As they walked through the doors, Emma remembered why she never came to Jeezy Pete's. The air was thick with stale smoke, and the men all wore steel-toed boots and sullen expressions. Their eyes were greedy and they leered indecently at the two girls. Emma was sure hers was the only non knock-off purse to ever walk through the doors. She had the distinct feeling of not belonging, but she kept her head held high. She was here for Harriet, not to feel comfortable.

She and Harriet sat at the bar, and she ordered a diet coke for herself and rum and coke for Harriet. She didn't want Harriet's nerves to get in the way.

Looking around, she could see why this bar might appeal to some men. There were an awful lot of big screen TVs displaying football matches and in the corners there were pool tables and darts.

Harriet had already consumed three fourths of her drink from pure nerves. "Is he here?"

Emma had been wondering the same thing, but she finally spotted Phil on the other side of the bar. After a few minutes she caught his eye, and he wandered over to them.

He leaned his elbows on the countertop next to her stool. "Emma Woodhouse—you're the very last person I'd expect to see here."

Emma laughed, and Harriet swiveled around on her bar stool to face him. "We're expanding our horizons," Harriet quoted, sipping on her drink.

Phil gave a hearty laugh in surprise, eying Harriet with interest.

"Phil, this is my roommate Harriet Smith. Harriet, this is Phil Elton. He and I had a class together freshman year." They shook hands, and Emma happily noticed the appreciative look that he gave Harriet.

"So how have you been? It feels like I haven't seen you for forever. You look great," he said, leaning back against the bar.

"I'm good, thank you."

She suggested that they move over to one of the tables and managed to maneuver it so that Harriet and Phil sat next to each other. She'd noticed he'd put on a little beer weight since the last time she'd seen him, but he was still attractive. He was much scruffier than she liked, but she was sure Harriet didn't mind.

Some time later, Emma tilted her head, watching the conversation. She'd tried to stay out of it and let Harriet do most of the talking. She helped steer the conversation when necessary, but mostly she'd watched Harriet and Phil. Emma thought Harriet was being quite charming. She was sure Phil had noticed. They were busy talking about Harriet's upcoming soccer match.

"I didn't know you played."

Emma smiled. "Harriet's great. Their next game is home, so I'm going to see her play. They've been away for the last couple games."

Phil suddenly looked interested. "I'd love to come see one."

Harriet smiled excitedly. "You should—we always love to have people in the stands. It makes us play better when we have fans."

"I'll be there," Emma said, trying to persuade him. She knew he probably wouldn't want to sit by himself, although she was sure he was interested in watching Harriet play.

He nodded. "I think I'll go too. It sounds like a good time." He paused a moment. "Did you want a drink?" he asked Emma, but she shook her head.

"I'm fine with my coke, thanks. But I think Harriet's done with hers," she hinted, and Phil blinked.

"Ah—sure." He slid out of the chair and over to the bar.

Emma squeezed one of Harriet's hands on the table. "This is great," she said once Phil was out of ear shot. Harriet smiled brightly.

"I don't feel awkward at all. He's so friendly. Usually my dates don't go this well. I run out of things to say so I end up blabbering about something no one wants to hear. I haven't done that yet, have I? Do _you_ think it's going all right?" she breathed, and Emma nodded vigorously. Phil returned, and so Emma couldn't say anything more.

"So, do you two know each other at all?" Emma asked innocently, and Phil shook his head. "You just seem like you get along really well. I guess it's not that surprising that you've never met; Harriet did transfer to Pemberley."

"Really?" Phil asked with interest, sipping on his beer, and Emma excused herself to use the restroom. She wanted to give them time to talk alone. She'd set up their conversation as best she could, and she was sure Harriet could continue it. She lingered in the bathroom, washing her hands thoroughly and fixing her hair. She meticulously put on more eye liner and lip gloss. She walked out and over to the jukebox and looked at every song before returning. She couldn't think of another reason for stalling, and she didn't want to be too obvious about leaving them alone.

She thought it was a very good sign that Harriet and Phil were still in conversation. She was almost tempted to think of another reason to stay away, but she couldn't come up with anything. She slid back in across the table from them.

"—is okay, but I like spiced rum better. Whiskey too. I think whiskey is my favorite," Harriet said animatedly, and Emma had to resist rolling her eyes. She had imagined they were talking about something a little more substantial than types of alcohol.

"I'm a whiskey man myself," Phil responded pleasantly and Emma sighed happily. It was all too easy.

After Harriet and Phil each had another two drinks, Emma decided it was a good idea to go home. She wanted to leave Phil wanting more, and she didn't want Harriet to get drunk and then vomit in her car on the ride home.

When she motioned for Harriet to get ready, Phil looked surprised.

"You're not going already? No, you should stay and have more drinks."

Harriet all but melted and got ready to sit back down, but Emma shook her head. "Sorry. We've got to go. But this was fun. We really should hang out more."

He stood up to let Harriet slide out. "Definitely. Let me get your number."

"My phone's broken," Emma lied easily. "Dropped it in some punch."

Phil had been looking skeptical, but he nodded with understanding now. "That's the worst."

"Why don't you get Harriet's number?" Emma asked innocently. "We live together, so you'll be able to reach the both of us." She smiled brightly as they exchanged numbers.

In her mind, the night was a total success.

After the goodbyes were said, Emma drove Harriet home.

"Emma," Harriet said as soon as they were in the car. Her eyes were bright. "He's _amazing_. He's so nice! He bought me a drink. Did you see he got my phone number? _Oh_, and while you were gone in the bathroom and we were talking he kept tapping his foot on mine, and then he looked down and gave me this smile and said "Sorry". Do you think he knew? And was just doing it for fun?" Harriet was frequently turning in her seat, trying to make out the bar in the distance. "Should I call him when we get home just to say we made it? Or do you think I should text him instead?"

Emma laughed. "I think you should put your phone away. You don't need to contact him for a few days at the least. You don't want to seem so eager. Let him have a few days to think about you. Then, either he'll call you or he'll be really pleased when you contact him."

Harriet nodded, absorbing the information. "Right. Okay, I can do that." She turned her wide eyes on Emma. "How do you think it went? Tell me I'm not imagining things. He's just so cute."

Emma smiled at her friend. "You did great. I think he was blown away by you. I imagine he's probably at that bar thinking of you this very moment."

Harriet turned again in her chair and giggled. "Didn't you love the way he has his hair? Oh, and I just loved his cologne…"

* * *

Emma was pleased with herself and the way things were going. She'd made the right choice for her friend, she was sure. Now whenever she saw Phil around campus she waved and took a moment to ask how he was and to mention something about Harriet. She wanted to keep her fresh in his thoughts. She'd instructed Harriet to act very cordial if she ever ran in to him, but again, not too eager. She felt that Harriet had the tendency to smother the people she was interested in. When they were at the apartment, Phil was all Harriet could think or speak about, but with Emma's help she managed to play it cool in front of him.

Emma knew she had to think of another way to throw Harriet and Phil together. They couldn't go back to the bar; she thought it would be too obvious. Plus, she really didn't like Jeezy Pete's, or any establishment really where sometimes patrons got stabbed.

What Emma really needed was a party, and what better way was there to get Phil and Harriet to interact than to throw one herself?

* * *

"And mommy went out to get the paper and she said I had to eat all my cereal before she got back inside. The paper comes _early_. Why does it come so early? Why don't people bring it at night? How do the reporters get everything ready every single day? I still had three Cheerios left, so I ate them one-two-three. Mommy goes to get the paper because she says the neighbors will steal it. I really like Frosted Flakes better than Cheerios. Cheerios get so squishy. The Frosted Flakes have got the tiger and sometimes a prize. Their prizes are the best, definitely. One time I got a spoon. It was in the box. It was green, but when you put it in the milk it turned pink. We put it in the dishwasher and then from then on it wouldn't turn colors any more. It just stayed green. I liked when it turned pink. Why would the neighbors steal the newspaper? Do you think the delivery boy just forgot? My neighbors have a really big, black dog. My mom says I'm not supposed to pet him because he'll bite off my fingers. Can dogs really bite fingers all the way off? If I went to the hospital, would they glue my fingers back on? Miss Emma, how do they get spoons to turn pink? Why won't mine turn any more? My mom told me to stop asking so many questions because they give her a terrible headache, but I just want to know. How does that work? Do you get headaches too? You never said you got headaches, and I ask you a lot more questions than I ask mommy. I always know when she starts sighing. I think to myself, 'it's time to stop asking questions'. I still think them; I just don't say them out loud. You don't ever sigh like she does. But she works two jobs, and maybe that's why."

Emma smiled as she finished lacing Heather Bates' shoes. Heather's little fingers weren't quite nimble enough to do it herself yet. Her hazel eyes were still looking quite inquisitively at Emma, and she chewed on a hangnail, waiting for a response.

She hadn't been listening to most of Heather's prattle, too busy planning the details of her upcoming party, but she'd heard some of the middle. "I'm not sure what makes those spoons turn colors," she responded as she zipped up Heather's rain coat. She smiled wickedly. "But I bet Knightley will. Let's ask _him_."

Emma led Heather outside to where Grant was standing. He waited with the children while their parents picked them up every evening. Heather was the last child for the day. She was Emma's other favorite child apart from Henry. She spoke steadily, giving Grant the same distracted speech about spoons and the neighbor's dog until her mother pulled up ten minutes later, and he was spared from having to come up with an intelligible answer for the young girl. Emma and Grant waved to her in the backseat and then went inside.

Grant raised his eyebrows and Emma laughed. "I've never heard her be quiet for more than a minute at a time. I bet she even talks in her sleep. And all those questions…Where does she get it all?" he asked, laughing. "I don't think I could come up with all of that even if I tried."

"I don't know," Emma responded, shaking her head. "Do you think she'll always talk so much?" Emma mused.

"I hope so. No one who knows her will ever be bored," Grant replied as they started the familiar task of closing for the day.

"You're coming to my party tomorrow, right?" Emma asked, changing the subject away from Heather. She had told Grant about her party the day before.

He nodded. "Who all did you invite?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, mostly just close friends. I wanted to keep it small. I'll let the frat houses throw the big parties on campus. Taylor and Mike are coming. Harriet will be there of course. I invited my neighbor from downstairs. Phil," she mumbled after a pause. She looked over to see his reaction and wasn't disappointed. His face plainly said, 'oh come on'.

"Emma," he began, his tone disapproving.

"Yes," she replied shortly, challenging him to say anything negative in response. She had her hand on her hip, and she was more than ready for a debate. He hadn't seen Harriet and Phil together at the bar. They had had a great time together. He still thought they were so incompatible.

He looked at her for a long moment before sighing. She imagined it was the type of sigh Heather's mother often made. "What time should I be there?" he said resignedly.

Emma beamed at him, completely surprised but happy. She relaxed her defiant pose. He was finally coming around to the idea that she was right. "9:45. And bring something to drink."

* * *

"He's here," Harriet hissed as the apartment door opened and Phil walked in.

"Well go say hello," Emma murmured, nudging Harriet a little. She had wondered when Phil was going to arrive. The party was going well and she wanted Harriet to get to interact with him in an environment she was comfortable in, instead of a place like Jeezy Pete's.

Emma looked around the room. Harriet was bringing Phil inside the room, Taylor, Mike, and Grant were having a conversation on the couch, while John Willoughby, her neighbor from downstairs, sat with his new girlfriend on the floor by the coffee table. She'd invited him because he seemed friendly and always spoke to her when they both got their mail or when they passed in the building, and also because she knew he was good friends with Phil. She wanted to keep Phil from feeling awkward.

Willoughby had brought a date, but Emma didn't mind in the least. She was a petite redhead name Marianne Dashwood. She was even shorter than Harriet, and Emma took an immediate liking to her after she complimented one of the impressionist paintings she had on her wall. Marianne obviously had good taste, and Emma really admired the dress she was wearing. It was distinctly vintage and looked expensive, and Emma was sure she hadn't purchased it at American Eagle.

Emma greeted Phil as Harriet brought him into the apartment and then backed her way to the kitchen using the excuse of finding more wine. Emma busied herself in the kitchen. She didn't want to distract Phil or Harriet.

A few minutes after Phil got settled next to Marianne, Mike excused himself to smoke a cigarette, leaving Grant and Taylor together on the couch. Through mutual friendships with Emma, they'd come to know each other well.

"So what do you think of Harriet?" Taylor whispered. The wine they'd been drinking made her less discreet than normal, but she spoke softly enough that no one but Grant could hear.

"She seems nice," Grant said, shrugging. "I haven't talked to her much. Why, do you disapprove?"

"No, I think she's great. I've been a terrible friend lately. I know I have. I'm happy Emma has someone to keep her company. I'm sure Emma has been enjoying herself, arranging all the pieces for her grand plan. I was just sure you'd disapprove of Harriet." She took a big sip from her glass, and he gave her a wry smile.

"I think Emma's scheming is only going to hurt Harriet, and that the very last thing Emma needs is someone to constantly flatter her and believe every word that comes out of her mouth without question. But that's just me," he finished, drinking from his beer.

Taylor laughed. "I knew I'd get the truthful answer eventually. You never were one to mince words." She paused, eyes glinting mischievously. "You should let Emma in on the truth too. Tell _her_ exactly what you feel." She gave Grant a knowing look, but he was busy playing with the label on his beer. He made a noncommittal response. They both knew she was no longer speaking of Harriet, but very different feelings instead.

She gave him a playful nudge, and he was finally goaded into replying. He looked surreptitiously around the room, but everyone was engrossed in their own conversations, paying no mind to him or Taylor. Emma was still busy in the kitchen.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," he said, looking up to meet Taylor's eyes.

She tilted her head. "I know that Emma is kind of oblivious, but." She lowered her voice down to a tiny whisper, leaning closer to him. "You're one of her closest friends. She's gotta feel something for you, right? There's no way she doesn't."

Grant snorted, looking almost amused. "Don't be so sure about that." He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "We're not even on a first name basis…"

Taylor laughed and gave his shoulder a light push. "It's a term of _endearment_. You're the only person she calls by their last name."

"Lucky me."

Taylor laughed again, and Grant joined in this time. He shook his head and took another sip of beer.

Taylor sobered and gave him a look. "I really think you should say something. You know how Emma is; she'll need some time to get used to the idea. She'll react badly when you tell her your feelings, and she'll definitely reject you, but after enough time…"

Grant laughed, rolling his eyes. "Such encouraging words, Taylor."

She was about to respond, but Emma came in from the kitchen, so no more could be said.

"More wine?" she offered Taylor and Marianne, topping off their glasses as Mike returned from smoking.

Harriet brought Phil over. "Look, he brought whiskey!"

Emma could tell she was touched by the fact that he had remembered her favorite drink, so she gave him a bright smile.

"Who's up for shots?" Phil asked jovially, raising the bottle.

Taylor said she was tired and Mike was driving, but everyone else assented. Emma hurried to find all the shot glasses she could. She scrambled through the kitchen cabinets. She owned just enough for everyone to get their own glass. She placed them on the coffee table and lined them up so that Phil could pour.

They all held up their glasses, amber liquid sloshing slightly. Emma's fingers were sticky and damp with the whiskey.

"Here's to friends—old ones and new ones," Marianne said cheerfully. In unison, they swallowed the drinks.

The shot made Emma's eyes water slightly and she grimaced at the taste. It'd gone down smooth, but she always forgot about its bite. She didn't mind liquor when it was in a martini, but straight shots had never been something she enjoyed. She didn't understand the appeal.

Everyone's faces showed different levels of distaste. Harriet gave her head a slight shake, Marianne stuck her tongue out in disgust, Grant squinted one eye and swallowed again and again, Willoughby smacked his lips, and she laughed at them all.

"Another!" Willoughby suggested, and Emma raised her eyebrows. He, Marianne, Harriet, and Phil refilled their glasses, but Emma and Grant refused. She had already consumed a lot of wine, and she could still feel the first shot, warm and bubbly in her insides. She'd learned her limits long before, and she knew more would only lead to bad things: the spins, vomit, feeling like death, more vomit. She was more than happy to pass.

Undeterred, the others all raised their shot glasses again. Emma quietly excused herself to the kitchen to avoid the temptation, and Taylor followed her.

"I think Mike and I are going to leave soon. It's been great seeing you though; we needed to catch up."

Emma readily agreed. "Thanks for coming. I was glad to spend time with you. I just hope everyone is enjoying themselves. I wasn't sure. I don't know if Knightley did…"

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Grant's been laughing the whole night. I'm sure he had fun. I think he might even have a little crush on that Marianne girl," she said, smiling mischievously.

"_What_?" Emma snorted loudly. "You're nuts. There's _no_ way…" Emma hadn't been able to stop herself from laughing at Taylor. The whole idea was absolutely ridiculous. Grant would never be interested in someone like Marianne. To be sure, she was an interesting person, and Emma wanted to get to know her better. She had unique style and she was clearly intelligent, but Emma was sure she wasn't the right kind of girl for Grant.

"Why not? She's pretty; she's like a pixie. They talked about movies for at least half an hour. She's cool. He seemed like he liked her."

"Don't get me wrong. I know she's pretty, but Willoughby is right there. They obviously have something, and Knightley wouldn't try to get in the middle, even if she were his type, which she _isn't_." Emma shook her head. "I'm one hundred percent certain that you're wrong. There's not a chance. She's _not_ the type of girl for him." She would have gone on, more vehemently, but Taylor held up her hands, laughing.

"Okay, okay. It was just an idea."

"A crazy one."

Taylor laughed again, giving her friend an understanding look that went unnoticed by Emma. Taylor led the way back to the living room, but Emma was still thinking about it. The very idea was absolutely absurd. The thought of Grant with a girlfriend was disgusting to her.

It would ruin their friendship. They wouldn't be able to talk the same way any longer, without any reservations. The girl would always be jealous and Emma would never get to see him outside of the daycare. It was out of the question. He couldn't be interested in anyone. What would happen to their friendship?

She was glad she didn't have to find out, that was for sure. She walked back out to the living room, looking him over. Grant was his same old self in that grey sweater that she liked so much. It matched his eyes. His light brown hair was a little disheveled, but his posture was as straight as ever. He was lounging on the couch, his long legs stretched out and an unaffected smile on his face as Taylor said something to him. He definitely was not mooning over Marianne. Taylor was in denial: that was for sure.

Taylor and Mike left soon after that, and Marianne turned up the stereo so that she and Willoughby could dance in the living room. Emma watched them, laughing and enjoying Marianne's free spirit. She liked seeing someone so unreserved and unconcerned with the opinion of others. Marianne looked at Willoughby like he was the only man in the room. Emma thought it was romantic, in the best and oldest sense of the word.

Phil joined her on the couch, his arm heavy around her shoulders. "Want to dance?" he asked.

She smiled, certain that he was only asking her because she was the hostess.

"Oh no, my feet are tired." She pointed to her high heels. "I bet Harriet will when she comes back from the bathroom."

Emma slid off the couch to stand. Phil stood too, and Harriet returned. Before Emma could mention anything, Phil was already talking. He was done, apparently, with the idea of dancing.

"Who wants to go to the bar? We could go to The Lounge." He named one of Emma's favorites. It was in easy walking distance from the apartment and the atmosphere was nice and classy. She knew it wasn't one of _his_ favorite establishments, and Emma thought that it was very gallant of him to offer to go there. Harriet had obviously been working her magic.

Willoughby, Marianne, and Harriet all agreed and began gathering their things, slipping on coats and grabbing purses. Phil turned to Emma and Grant. "What about you two?"

Emma was torn. It was her favorite night spot by far, but then again she didn't want any more to drink and she didn't want to distract Phil from Harriet. If she didn't go, they'd get to spend the whole night together.

She looked at Grant. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak. She turned back to Phil and shook her head. "I'll stay and clean up. I'm done for the night."

"And I'll help," Grant said a moment later. Phil looked put out and tried to convince her for another minute to come with them, but was forced to give up. She thought it was sweet that he didn't want to break up the group. He obviously wanted Harriet to feel comfortable.

Marianne waved on her way out. "Nice to meet you! Thanks for having us."

"No problem. You guys have fun," Emma said, and she waggled her eyebrows at Harriet and led them all out the door, closing it quietly behind them.

She took a deep breath and looked around. Without all the people, the apartment seemed much larger. There wasn't quite as much carnage as she'd expected, but her living room was fairly trashed. Empty glasses and bottles littered every surface. Grant stood and stretched.

"Thanks Knightley," she said, as he started taking the empty beer bottles to the trashcan in the kitchen. Emma brought the empty wine glasses to the counter and filled the sink with warm soapy water.

"That was fun," she said. She was pleasantly drunk and everything seemed nice. She watched as Grant leaned against the countertop near the sink. "I'm glad you could come see everyone."

"And by everyone you mean Harriet and Phil," he said, handing her a glass. She washed it out and gave him a devilish look over her shoulder.

"So you noticed how well they go together, then."

He laughed, handing her another glass. He leaned in and caught her gaze, making her look up from the glasses. Her nose itched, but she couldn't touch it with her soapy hands. She wiggled it and looked at him.

"The only thing I noticed was Phil hitting on _you_ the whole night."

"Me?" Emma cried, shocked. She dropped the washcloth she'd been holding. "Knightley, you've got to be kidding. Don't you think I would have noticed if he had been? Phil knows he doesn't have a chance with me. Why would he bother?"

Grant gave her an incredulous glance, still leaning close to her. "Are you sure he knows that?"

"Of course," she said quickly, refusing to even entertain the idea of it. She decided to make a joke out of it instead. After all, the idea was completely absurd. "How could you even suggest it? Are you jealous? Because Phil can actually pull off that scruffy, mountain man look?"

Grant gaped, looking completely caught off guard. "No, I was just—"

"'Cause I think you could pull it off too. Maybe even better than him—he's getting fat and you're still fit. Look, just don't shave for the next week. I bet you've even got stubble now. Lemme feel." She raised her soapy, dripping hands from the sink, but he dodged his head away from her.

"Emma—" He was laughing again.

"Okay, I'll stop." She gave him a serious look. "Phil wasn't trying to hit on me," she said, after a pause. He was interested in Harriet, not her. He had to be. He had been nice, friendly, polite, and nothing more. Grant was reading in to things. She was certain she had a better sense of the situation than he did.

Grant shrugged and handed her the final glass. She cleaned it and then turned around, wiping her hands on a towel. Grant was leaning against the counter, his arms stretched to either side of him, his legs crossed. Emma settled against the counter next to him, letting herself rest comfortably against the length of his arm. She felt content and at ease. It was warm where they touched. She could finally itch her nose.

"I know I'm right," Emma said. "Maybe they aren't quite sure about it yet, but they like each other. There's obviously something between them. Sometimes it's hard for people to recognize their feelings. I'm sure they just need a little push to see what's right there in front of them."

Emma was determined to be that push. She looked up and to the side to see what Grant would say, but he was looking away from her, staring intently at one particular tile on the floor.

"You know?" she prompted, leaning in, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. She couldn't tell if he had been listening or not. He finally looked up from the tile, locking eyes with her for a few moments. She was close enough to see the tiny, nearly invisible scar near his chin from some childhood accident. His mouth was right at her eye level.

In the kitchen lights his eyes looked gray, and she couldn't read his expression. Something in the region of her stomach twisted, and for some inexplicable reason she found herself blushing uncomfortably. She felt tongue-tied, and blinking in confusion, she looked away after a moment. He moved suddenly from the countertop to the center of the kitchen, far from her.

"I know what you mean," he finally said. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "I think I'm going to go now, if you don't need any more help cleaning." He sounded cheerful, but Emma had known him long enough to see that he was covering something else with it. The cheer kept falling flat.

"Okay," she said slowly, completely puzzled. He was no longer making eye contact with her. It did not bode well. She didn't want him to leave so suddenly, but she couldn't think of anything to say to make him stay. "Be safe," she finally said.

He nodded. "I'll just show myself out." He gave her a brief, fleeting smile before grabbing his jacket and walking out the door.

In the sudden and resounding silence around her, Emma felt extremely bewildered. She couldn't help wondering what on earth had just happened.

* * *

**AN**: There are so many lurkers reading this story. Story traffic tells me so. Don't lurk; say hello :)


	4. The Devil's In The Details

You Were The First Mile

By Luna

Chapter 4: "The Devil's in the Details"

* * *

Emma woke up, relishing the lazy feeling of the Saturday morning. She'd gone to bed confused, but in the early morning sunlight nothing seemed very important any longer. She still didn't understand why Grant had left in such a hurry. She had stood in her kitchen for several minutes after he left, trying to come up with something, _anything_ to explain his bizarre behavior. She'd drawn a blank. She'd even grabbed her phone, ready to call him and apologize. The problem was that she couldn't think of anything to apologize for.

Sorry for throwing a great party where everyone had fun? It didn't sound very convincing. She'd put her phone away and headed off to bed, convinced that was the right thing to do. Whatever had upset him was Grant's problem, not hers. She didn't think she'd done anything to him, and she hoped whatever it was that was bothering him was over. He was insufferable when he was in one of his bad moods.

Emma was feeling languid and cozy in her bed. She sighed contentedly, rubbing her toes together. She didn't want to move. Somehow, the pillows always felt so much softer in the morning. Sadly, her senior thesis was calling her. The stack of books on her desk was saying plainly that it was time to get out of bed.

She threw off her blanket, stepped into her slippers, and padded out to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. It smelled slightly of stale beer, and Emma wrinkled her nose. Despite the oddity of the conclusion with Grant, she considered the night a success. She was desperate to know how Harriet's night had gone, but she knew she had to wait; Harriet always slept in late on the weekends.

Emma curled up on the couch with her tea and a daunting history text, whiling away the time until Harriet awoke. She always found it easiest to do work in the morning. Her mind was fresh and blank, and there weren't any distractions to keep her away from her books. She managed to make progress in her text until Harriet walked out of her room to the living room. Her hair was disheveled and she had tired bags under her eyes, but she practically beamed at Emma, who quickly closed her book. She snuggled closer to Harriet as she sat down on the couch.

"So?" Emma asked with interest.

Harriet giggled rather girlishly and leaned her head against the back of the couch. "It was a great night. I can't believe how much I like Phil. He's just amazing."

"What all happened? Tell me details."

Harriet clasped her hands together excitedly. "We walked to the bar and he bought everyone another shot. He's so generous. Then we played darts. I told him I didn't know how to play, so he had to show me, and he stood behind me and guided my arm…" Harriet bit the corner of her lip. "He's so sexy. Of course, I told him I still didn't get it so he had to come help me again. At one point I really thought we were going to kiss, but it didn't happen. Oh," she said excitedly. "He's coming to my game tomorrow! He asked what time and where. He wants to see me play! I can't believe it."

Emma patted her friend's shoulder. She was so happy for Harriet. "That's excellent. It sounds like everyone had fun. Did he walk you home?"

She shook her head. "No, I came back with Willoughby and Marianne. We were all ready to go, but Phil said he was going to stay 'til close. He made sure I had someone to walk with though."

Emma would have liked it better if he had walked her home himself, but he'd done well enough by making sure she'd had someone to walk with.

"Good. I'm glad he did that—it shows he's thinking of your safety." Emma thought for a moment. "I really think it's only going to take another night out with him before he makes a move. He's just been waiting to make sure you're really interested, and I'm sure by now he knows you are. Pretty soon you'll have him completely wrapped around your finger."

And Emma would have the pleasure of setting yet another of her dearest friends up with the perfect man and of knowing that she was right all along. She couldn't wait to see Grant's face when he learned the news.

* * *

Emma was very glad she had decided to bring the blanket to Harriet's game. She had grabbed it off the back of the couch as an afterthought before she walked out the door, and she was congratulating herself now on her foresight. It was mid-October and downright chilly.

The cold metal of the bleachers managed to bite right through Emma's jeans. She couldn't stop shivering. She'd never been to see Harriet play before, and she was glad she hadn't waited until the very last home game to make an appearance. She wasn't sure she'd have been able to stand the cold. She couldn't believe it when Harriet said the season lasted well into November. She didn't understand why anyone would want to run around in the frigid air in shorts.

Emma huddled in her blanket and cheered when they announced Harriet's name. She was just happy that the day wasn't overcast. Although the sun was feeble, it provided at least a little warmth. The red maples in the distance stood out in greater contrast to the cerulean blue sky. Emma couldn't have asked for a better fall day, although she could have named a few things she would have preferred to be doing. Still, she was a good friend.

She looked around in the small crowd for Phil, but she couldn't see him anywhere. She hoped he hadn't forgotten. Harriet was counting on him to show up.

Emma soon realized that although it was more entertaining than watching golf, soccer wasn't exactly her favorite sport. The girls ran and kicked the ball and ran more. Emma couldn't find much more to it than that. Instead she was preoccupied with the thought of a warm, grilled Provolone on wheat sandwich. She had all the ingredients for it back in the kitchen; it would go perfectly with a bowl of soup…

She was just trying to think of a viable excuse to leave when she finally spotted Phil making his way across the stands to her. He handed her one of the two hot chocolates he was holding and sat down next to her on the bleacher.

"Did I miss much? What's the score?"

Emma laughed. "You're asking the wrong person for details. The most I can do is tell you Harriet's number and say that she almost scored a goal a few minutes ago." She pointed out Harriet to him on the field and he smiled.

"Nice. Looks like we're winning."

Emma was happy for the company. Although he was about as far away from her type as it was possible to be, with the blond hair and the huge football muscles and neck, Emma still enjoyed talking with Phil. She felt bad when she realized that they hadn't paid any attention to over half of the game. She hastily reintroduced Harriet's name into the conversation.

"I'm glad you came to Harriet's game. I know she'll really appreciate the support."

"Sure. She seems like a nice girl." He finished off his cup of hot chocolate. Emma thought it was a curiously bland thing to say about someone he was interested in, but then she realized that, as one of Harriet's closest friends, Phil could hardly feel comfortable expressing his true feelings. He probably knew she was going to report every word he said back to Harriet. She was sure he was only trying to play it cool in front of her.

She smiled. "Harriet's the greatest." She ranted off as many compliments for Harriet as she could think of. If he couldn't, she'd say them for him. He nodded and then turned to face her.

"Hey, there's a big frat party this weekend, did you want to go? I mean, you and Harriet both are more than welcome. My buddy asked me to spread the word around."

Emma couldn't think of a better way for Harriet and Phil to spend more time together. This party was the perfect opportunity.

"Harriet and I will definitely be there." She got the details from Phil, who was suddenly making motions to leave. "You're leaving?" she asked in shock. The game only had a few minutes left.

"Yeah, I gotta run." He shrugged apologetically. "I told a friend I'd meet him for dinner. Tell Harriet she played great though."

Emma was surprised. Phil was missing an opportunity to spend more time with Harriet. She decided that Phil was probably feeling shy about seeing Harriet again. Maybe he was afraid of looking bad in front of her, and at least he kept his commitments. That was a positive sign in a man.

The final whistle blew, and Emma exited the stadium with the rest of the fans. She still wasn't certain about the score, but she was ever more positive that Phil was the right man for Harriet. The afternoon had all but settled it for her.

Emma waited in the warmth of her car for Harriet to emerge from the locker room.

After throwing her bag into the trunk of Emma's Audi, Harriet climbed in the front seat.

"Phil says hi. He wanted me to tell you that he thought you looked great," Emma said, taking some liberties with the exact wording.

Harriet's cheeks instantly turned pink with pleasure. "He was here? He saw the game?"

Emma nodded. "He had to meet a friend, and he was very sorry to have to leave early. We talked a lot about you. He told me how nice he thought you were. Oh and," Emma smiled slowly, turning into the apartment parking lot. "He invited you to a party."

Harriet let out an exclamation of happiness. "When is it?"

"It's next weekend. That's plenty of time to go shopping for something new to wear. It's some big frat blow-out."

Harriet suddenly looked worried. "You're coming too, right? You'll go with me?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

As it turned out, Harriet was the one who had to miss the party.

Emma was studying her reflection in the bathroom. She tilted her head to the left and to the right. She made three different expressions with her mouth and her eyes. The indigo top really brought out her brown eyes, but she still wasn't sure if the half-up hairstyle was more flattering than just wearing it down like she normally did. Her fine hair texture made a lot of hairstyles impossible for Emma.

She walked across the hallway to Harriet's room. She was opening her mouth to ask about her hair when she realized something was very wrong. Harriet was not dressed with her hair and make up in varying stages of completion as Emma had expected. No, she was in her sweats and at her computer, surrounded by papers and notebooks.

"Harriet, are you crazy? Why aren't you getting ready? We're supposed to leave in half an hour."

Harriet was looking very frazzled and almost to the point of tears. "I know. I'm so stupid. Because of all the soccer stuff I forgot to turn in an essay for my English class. My professor gave me an extension until tomorrow morning, but I haven't even read the book yet. It's going to take me all night. There's no way I can go to the party."

Emma felt horrible. Poor Harriet. "Then I won't go either," Emma said magnanimously. "I'll stay in and help you."

Harriet looked touched, but she shook her head. "No, you have to go. You're already dressed and everything. My friend Tina already gave me her notes on the book so I'm just going to read them and maybe look up some stuff on Wikipedia."

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

"No, please go have fun. I would feel even worse if you didn't go because of me. Somebody should get to have a good time tonight."

"Okay. I'll let Phil know what happened when he asks. I'm sure he'll be wondering where you are. And don't worry," she added. "You'll have plenty more opportunities to spend time with him."

Emma felt bad, but what could she do? It seemed like a waste to get completely ready and then not go…

Half an hour later she popped her head in Harriet's door again. "I'm leaving. Good luck! Call me if you miraculously finish early and want to come join me. I'll be hoping you do."

Harriet sighed dejectedly. "I'll try."

* * *

Emma pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she walked up the steps to the campus house where the party was being held. Upon further thought, she was surprised to find that this was the first big party she had attended all semester. Looking back, she felt that partying was all she had done freshman and sophomore year. Somewhere along the way, however, she'd outgrown it. Still it was nice to get a chance to see old friends and meet new people. Plus, there was always at least one person making a spectacle of themselves to laugh at.

She waved at friends as she came inside the door. She had been the spectacle herself one night sophomore year and she had lost her dignity _and_ her cell phone. She'd made sure it never happened again. She made sure to avoid whatever punch the boys were offering.

The party looked fun. She knew most of the people in attendance, with the exception of the freshmen, who all stood in tight little groups apart from the other people in at the party. The girls were all overdressed.

Emma sighed, falling into nostalgia. It wasn't really so long ago that she'd been one of those girls. She could still remember the excitement she had felt at her first college party. Soon the novelty would wear off. By second semester they'd lose the slightly scared, naïve looks and join in with everyone else, but for now they were segregated by class year.

There was a flurry of movement, and suddenly Marianne was by her side. The younger girl smiled brightly, making small talk with Emma. Emma was completely enchanted. She looked pretty and stylish, and Emma couldn't help but imagine her to be a much shorter version of herself three years earlier.

"So are you enjoying yourself?" she asked and Marianne nodded, sipping from her cup of punch.

"Of course. John and I have been dancing all night."

Marianne looked out at the crowd and then laughed to herself. When she turned back to Emma, her eyes were sparkling with mirth. "Actually, I came here with my roommate, Beth, and I think _she'_s having the most fun of anyone, by far." Emma looked as Marianne pointed out to a girl on the dance floor, and then she couldn't help laughing for herself.

The girl was pretty, with creamy pale skin and dark curls, but she was obviously drunk. Her partner, who Emma knew had graduated the year before, had to keep her from running in to everyone around her. She wasn't out of control, but she wasn't all that far from it. Still, Marianne was right; she looked like she was having the greatest night. Emma smiled in nostalgia again. She'd had many similar nights herself.

Willoughby came by to claim Marianne then, and Emma excused herself to find the kitchen.

Emma walked in to the kitchen, searching for something to drink. It didn't take her long to spot the keg. Per usual, there was a small crowd of people huddled around it. She walked up and looked around for the cups, only to have one politely placed in her hands. She looked up into a pair of intelligent brown eyes, glinting behind a pair of glasses. She knew she vaguely recognized the boy, but couldn't place the name. He seemed oddly familiar.

"Did you want a beer?" he asked, pointing to the keg.

"Thank you," she said as he began to pump the tap for her.

He gave her an easy smile. "No problem. It's Emma, right?" He continued after she nodded. "I'm Rob. Rob Martin. We had that Holocaust class together…"

"Right. Right, I remember," Emma said, recovering from a great shock. This was Rob Martin? He wasn't at all how she'd remembered him. He didn't fit the persona she'd assigned him during the class. He wasn't a geek; he was jovial and open. Maybe he wasn't in the center of the dance floor surrounded by a huddle of girls, but at least he was at the party. He wasn't home alone sitting in the dark playing video games. "So…how have you been?" she asked lamely in an attempt at small talk while waiting for her cup to fill. She was still in shock.

"Not too bad, not too bad. I was really hoping to see someone tonight, but she can't come. She's got a big paper due tomorrow morning."

Emma chewed on the corner of her lip, sure that he was speaking about Harriet. The first glimmer of guilt or doubt had flickered across her mind, but she hastily shoved it away. Maybe Rob wasn't as unacceptable as she'd made him out to be, but Harriet and Phil were obviously still the better choice. She couldn't start doubting herself now. She shook her head slightly.

"That's a shame," she said consolingly, and Rob smiled. Emma pulled her full cup away.

"I guess I'll just have to make the best of it. Have a good night now," he said, giving her another smile, which Emma returned before walking away.

She took a small sip, scanning the crowd again. For some reason, thinking about Rob made her uncomfortable, and so she quickly put him from her mind.

As it was want to happen at such parties, Emma soon managed to run into the one person on campus that she never wished to see and generally avoided at all costs. They had already made eye contact, and so Emma knew there was no avoiding the situation.

Rationally, Emma knew that Jane Fairfax was a nice, reserved person. However, she couldn't help irrationally hating the girl.

It'd all started during her first class ever at Pemberley. She'd walked into the lecture hall filled to bursting with all her freshman hopes and insecurities and picked a seat next to the girl with shiny black hair and skin like café au lait. She had big, expressive dark eyes with long lashes, and Emma decided immediately that they would be friends. She notoriously judged the prettiest books by their covers.

She'd started a conversation, been open, gregarious, and perky, and had receive little more than quiet reserve and civility from Jane. To Emma, it was like a slap in the face. She was in a new situation and vulnerable. Jane made no reciprocal effort. She had never had her friendship thrown back in her face so rapidly and with so little civility. Emma tried for several class periods to make friends with Jane, but gave up when she decided Jane really was just that dull and stuck up. It annoyed her that, three years later, she still had to acknowledge Jane and make small talk when they ran in to each other around campus. She wished she could just ignore the girl.

She sighed as Jane walked over to her. Jane smiled, brushing a strand of hair off of her face. "Hi, how are you?"

Emma put on one of her brightest and fakest of smiles. "Just great. How are you, Jane?"

Jane shrugged and adjusted her purse on her shoulder. There was the aloofness Emma hated so very much. "I'm okay. Do you still volunteer at that day care? I always thought it was so great that you stayed on there after you were done with community service."

Emma wished she could think of a good excuse to leave. Now she felt guilty because Jane Fairfax had remembered every detail Emma had ever told her, and _she'd_ made every effort to block Jane completely from her mind the second they were no longer within eyesight. She wondered how Jane did it.

"Yeah, I volunteer a couple hours every day."

Jane nodded. "Grant always talks about how wonderful the kids are. It sounds really rewarding."

Emma finally remembered that Grant and Jane were both math tutors for the university. _That_ was how Jane had remembered.

Emma wasn't going to spend another minute of her evening talking with Jane. It was a complete waste of her time. "It's a great experience," Emma said, and she began to back away. She pretended to spot someone in the crowd. "Oh, there's--" she mumbled a name. "I have to go say hello. Well have a good night. It was nice talking with you." She turned on her heels and left the room.

Emma sighed. She would have felt bad about her behavior, except that it was just Jane Fairfax. For that reason, she couldn't care less.

She didn't know why she'd bothered to get a beer. She really didn't feel like drinking it. It was only empty calories after all. She was headed to the bathroom to dump it down the sink when she literally ran in to Phil. Some beer sloshed on to his shoes from her cup.

"Sorry," she said, feeling bad, but he didn't appear to notice or care. In fact, he seemed rather intoxicated.

"Emma," he said, pulling her into a hug. "There's my girl." Most of the cup spilled on the floor as he jostled her arm. She made a face and he looked at the foaming spot on the carpet with little concern. "Whoops. Let me get you another."

"No, that's all right," Emma said hurriedly, flicking the spilled beer off of her hand. She flipped her hair off of her shoulder. She was just relieved that she'd avoided spilling any on herself thus far.

"Hey, where's your friend?"

Emma smiled brightly, pleased he had been the first to bring up Harriet's absence. It had been a test and he'd passed. He was obviously thinking about Harriet since he'd immediately noticed her absence. "She had to write a paper. It's due tomorrow morning. She's so mad she can't be here."

"That _sucks_," Phil said with feeling. He furrowed his brow. "That really sucks." He took a long, long swig from his drink.

Emma couldn't wait to tell Harriet how sad Phil had been that she couldn't come.

Phil looked down at Emma with bloodshot eyes. "So you want to dance?"

Emma raised her eyebrows. Apparently he wasn't taking it as badly as she'd thought.

"No," she said with a large amount of disapproval. She narrowed her eyes. The way he was looking at her suddenly made her think of Grant and what he had mentioned to her during their moment in the kitchen. Phil wasn't trying to hit on _her_, was he?

Soon, he removed all doubt from her mind.

"So what do you want?" he slurred. "I think I know. Always this 'hard to get' stuff."

She was just about to ask him what he meant when he pulled her close again, this time trying to kiss her. She turned her head away and tried to push herself out of his arms. He smelled like beer and sweat. She struggled against him and he wasn't letting go, so she kicked him hard in the shin with the toe of her high heel.

He immediately let go, and bent down to rub his leg. "What the _hell_?"

Emma had backed away and was straightening herself up, breathing hard.

"Listen," she said angrily. "I know you're drunk and I think you need to go away and sober up before you make me really mad. Don't be stupid." She ran a hand through her hair angrily. "It's Harriet you want, not me. Just go clear your head. Drink some water."

Phil was staring like she had said she was going to join the circus, and he let out a bark of laughter. "_Harriet_? I don't want Harriet. She's cute and everything, but nothing compared to _you_. I thought you were just playing hard to get."

Emma was standing with her mouth wide open. Her stomach was resting somewhere near her toes. She'd never been so surprised and unprepared in her life. It took her a minute to even gather her thoughts. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts.

"But you came to watch her game. You sat in the cold." She sputtered off the first thought that came to her mind.

"Who cares about soccer? I wanted to talk to you."

Emma didn't know what to think. It was all so strange and so wrong. "But what about the party—you brought her favorite drink for her. You remembered from the conversation at the bar when you guys met."

"What are you talking about? I came over because _you_ invited me and I brought what _I_ like to drink. I wasn't thinking about _her_." Phil gave Emma a calculating look, suddenly seeming much more sober. "Are you saying—"

"I've only been talking to you because Harriet liked you. I'm not interested. I will never be interested, and this is in no way playing hard to get. I'm just sorry I ever told her she should go for you."

Emma couldn't even try to be nice. She had no idea what she was going to do. Harriet was going to be devastated!

"God, you're a bitch," Phil said, his wounded pride taking over.

"And you're a dumb drunk. Don't call me or Harriet." She turned and walked away. She had to leave immediately; she had to get to Harriet right away.

She hurried out to her car. It was already midnight. Once inside the car, she locked the doors and put her head down on the steering wheel. She felt so stupid. How could she have been so stupid?

She'd planned everything and at every step along the way it had seemed as though Phil had been falling for Harriet. And for him to suddenly confess feelings for her--! She couldn't seem to figure out where everything had gone so terribly wrong. She couldn't really be that awful a judge of character. She knew how to gauge people's feelings better than that.

She didn't know how it had all happened or how she was supposed to go about fixing any of it.

Emma rushed home, dreading every moment of what she was about to do. But do it she must. Harriet couldn't go a minute longer harboring any feelings for that swine.

* * *

Emma let herself in to the apartment. It was silent and Emma couldn't see whether there was a light coming from under Harriet's door or not. She walked over and saw that the messy pile of papers around Harriet was gone, and instead she sat looking over her finished paper. She looked up as Emma said a quiet hello.

"You're back. I was just going to call to see if I should try to make it to the party or not."

Emma nodded, still unsure of how to say what she had to say. "So you finished the paper?"

"Yeah, I was just looking it over one last time before I emailed it."

"That's a good idea. I'll wait 'til you're done." Emma was just thankful that Harriet had managed to finish. She was sure once Harriet knew about Phil she wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything, let alone write an essay.

Harriet pressed the send button, and Emma sank down on the bed across from Harriet's desk.

"Are you okay?" Harriet asked, noticing Emma's downcast appearance. Emma shook her head slowly. The moment of truth had come.

"I have terrible news. Really terrible news, and I want you to know that it's all my fault and that you had nothing to do with it. You didn't do anything wrong."

Harriet was looking bewildered, her eyes wide and scared. "What is it?" she whispered.

"At the party, Phil was drunk and—he tried to kiss me. I told him to get away—that he was confused, and then he said that he'd been trying to get with me this whole time." She hung her head. "Not you. I feel so awful. I caused this whole misunderstanding. I pushed you toward him. I had no idea he was such a pig and I'm so, so sorry."

Harriet had very quietly started to cry, and Emma felt utterly wretched. "Oh Harriet," she said, pulling Harriet to come sit next to her on the bed. She stroked her hair. "You're worth 20 of him. He doesn't deserve you anyway. He's not even fit to take out our trash," she said, trying desperately to console her friend.

What an awful mess she had made of everything. She was the worst substitute for Cupid in the history of love. She might as well be called Eris, for all the strife she had caused those near to her. Harriet had to be feeling so poorly about herself now, and she'd done nothing wrong. It all came from Emma's meddling. If Emma had only let her go for the man she really wanted in the first place, none of it ever would have happened. Rob was obviously a better man than Phil.

She was certainly glad Grant wasn't around to see the end result. Everything had blown up in her face. How right he had been about everything. He had understood it all so much better than she had. She didn't know why she never listened to him. She knew how right he was about the important things. He'd never given her bad advice when it mattered. She sighed terribly, giving Harriet's shoulder a squeeze. She was still crying steadily.

With a little determined nod of her head, Emma made a promise to herself. She would never mess around with people's feelings again. It wasn't her place, and she had no right. She couldn't believe she'd helped create so much pain and confusion. She felt like crying herself. She'd realized too late that everything seemed to be better off when she left it well alone.


	5. Everybody's Silly

You Were The First Mile

By Luna

Chapter 5: "Everybody's Silly"

* * *

The air around the apartment was dismal during the following weeks. Emma felt like a shadow had fallen over them. She found herself creeping around, speaking in a hushed voice; she didn't want to seem too cheery. Harriet couldn't seem to do much more than mope, though Emma couldn't blame her. She couldn't imagine having significant feelings for someone who then turned around and made a move on her best friend. To make it worse, Harriet was an especially sensitive person, and Phil had not made any effort to be kind. He snubbed her unmercifully any time they crossed paths on campus.

Emma wished she had a time machine and could go back to fix her errors. So much could have been avoided if she had only listened to Grant. It seemed to be a theme in her life. She couldn't count the number of times she had said or thought the sentence, 'if only I had listened'. She didn't feel like experience was making her wiser. She continued to make mistakes and hurt the people she loved. If anything, she felt that she was making stupider mistakes as time went on. She couldn't understand how, with so much good will from her, everything had still managed to go so badly.

Most days after class or soccer practice, Harriet would come home, throw herself across the bed, and stay that way the whole night, wallowing. Phil had hurt her feelings and her pride, and the wound was very slow to heal.

It was torture for Emma too. Every day she was awash with new feelings of guilt and remorse. Harriet didn't ever seem to be any nearer to getting over Phil; her thoughts and actions were filled with him. They couldn't go anywhere if they knew Phil would be there. Harriet would often cut herself off mid-sentence before she slipped and mentioned Phil's name.

Phil had liked playing darts.

Phil enjoyed whiskey.

Phil liked football.

Emma couldn't take it. Some days she even thought about looking through her phonebook for someone to distract Harriet from Phil's ghost, but she would immediately stop the thought. Look where it had gotten them the last time Emma had tried it. She left it alone. She knew Harriet would recover in time. The pain was still fresh and sharp, but Emma knew that eventually it would dull to a slow ache, and then one day it would be completely gone, and Harriet would start being herself again.

Still, Emma couldn't suppress the feeling that she had done her new friend a great wrong by turning her off of Rob Martin. Every time she saw Harriet, she had to stop herself from asking whether they still talked or ever saw each other. She wanted to make amends and have the comfort of knowing that she hadn't completely ruined everything between the two. But Emma never had the gumption to ask; she didn't know if the subject would be a sore one with Harriet, and she didn't want to cause her any more pain. Emma was forced to settle for the idea that what would be would be.

* * *

In the meantime, midterms had come and gone, and Emma was busy with mounds of school work. She knew it was time to catch up on all her readings and to begin preparing for her final exams. She didn't know where the time had gone. Her finals were a month away, but Emma had learned from experience that it was much easier to do a little each day than to try to stuff two tons of information into her brain the night before her exam. Grudgingly, she began to review a little every day.

The first flurries of snow had already started to fall on a regular basis, although none of it managed to stick on the ground. Emma enjoyed snow; she just wished it wouldn't get quite so cold. She did not enjoy becoming an icicle on her way to class. The winter promised to be long and harsh.

She and Grant took all the children out on the first day of snow, and they ran around the small back courtyard at the daycare trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues as Emma and Grant watched. A few flakes were caught in the fabric of her glove, and she peered closely, marveling at the beauty of the tiny snowflakes. Each one was a perfect, geometric masterpiece, but in the warmth from her breath, they all melted into clear water droplets. She looked up to see Grant looking at her with a soft smile on his face, and she smiled back brightly, reaching over to brush bits of snow from his sleeve. The air was full with the sparkling laughter of the children.

Henry hovered a few feet from her. He was bundled in so many layers that he looked more like a large marshmallow than a human child. He had insisted on all the layers before he consented to going outside and seemed quite against the idea of having fun. He hadn't joined in with all the other children.

Emma didn't know whether it was because he truly didn't want to go outside or because all the layers made it so difficult for his little legs to walk. He only waddled a few steps before he began complaining of the cold.

Emma was on the point of asking whether he wouldn't much prefer to take off one of his many scarves when Grant swooped Henry off his feet and ran around the yard with him on his broad shoulders. The two of them used sheer speed to catch more snowflakes than anyone, and later when they all trooped back inside, Henry's cheeks were pink, and his eyes were as alight with happiness as any of the other children.

It was days like that that made Emma happy to be alive. She didn't know how anyone could ever be sad when there were children and snowflakes.

* * *

Emma decided to stay at school over her Thanksgiving break. The holiday was a sparse affair at her home. Growing up, there had never been much emphasis on it, and she was sure her father would want to catch up on his never-ending piles of paperwork instead of sitting down to a formal dinner. He wouldn't mind one way or the other if she came home.

She thought the idea of the upcoming holiday might perk up Harriet's spirit, but she was as downcast as ever. Emma had tried everything she could think of. She'd put up happy turkey decorations around the apartment and made batch after batch of cookies. She rented movies that she knew Harriet loved, but nothing ever seemed to work.

After some major convincing techniques, Emma finally managed to talk Harriet in to going out with her on the last night before the break. Once she'd agreed to it, Harriet seemed happy with her decision and showed the first signs of post-Phil life, which made Emma practically ecstatic.

Of course, the euphoria only lasted until they had walked to the bar, which Emma negligently failed to realize was the same one that Harriet had gone to with Phil and Willoughby.

"He won't be here," Emma said in exasperation, practically pushing her friend inside the doors. "It'll be fine. Let's just order a drink. Don't you want to get out of the apartment and see some people before break?"

Emma ordered a drink, but Harriet only gazed around forlornly. She let out a small cry.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked, looking around. She didn't see anything amiss.

"I just remembered that's where we played darts. He had to show me how to play." Harriet's eyes suddenly filled. "Oh, can we leave? I don't think I can stay here any longer."

Promptly, the bartender placed Emma's full martini down in front of her. She gave Harriet a look. She realized very well that her friend had been very badly hurt, but this was starting to get ridiculous.

Emma's look was not lost on Harriet.

"You should stay and finish that. I'm sorry, but I just have to go home. I can't be here. There are too many terrible memories. I'll just take a cab. I'm leaving early in the morning for home anyway," Harriet replied, and she gave Emma a quick hug and shoved her hat onto her head, hurrying out the door before Emma could manage to get another word in.

"Humph," Emma sighed, taking a sip of her drink. It was okay to go out with her friend, but sitting alone in a bar made her feel pretty pathetic. She looked around for someone she knew. The Lounge was nearly empty. She was momentarily surprised before she remembered that it was the last night before break, and most of her peers had probably already left for home. They were also supposed to get several inches of snow around midnight. Perhaps the other people hadn't wanted to get caught in it. It gave Emma an eerie feeling to be in an empty bar. They were supposed to be filled with people.

The only other person sitting anywhere near to her was a man with dark, dark tousled hair sitting about five seats down from her at the bar. She knew he went to Pemberley, and she knew she recognized him, but she couldn't quite place his name. It was there, just on the tip of her tongue. Fred? No, she knew that was wrong.

She sipped on her drink and continued to stare, trying to think of his name. More details were coming back to her. She knew he was a senior too. In a flash of illumination, she remembered how it had been Taylor who'd had the big crush on him during their first weeks of sophomore year. Taylor had even figured out his class schedule so that she could 'accidentally' cross paths with him every day. Taylor never had the guts to actually introduce herself.

Emma smiled at the extent to which her friend had gone for nothing. This man probably had no idea that Taylor even existed. He certainly hadn't at the time. He'd left campus to study abroad for a year somewhere in Europe, and then Taylor had met Mike and stopped paying any attention to this man, so Emma had forgotten all about him. How things had changed. She just wished she could remember his name.

After accidentally catching his eye three or four times, Emma wasn't surprised when he got up and slid on to the stool next to her. His eyes were dark brown. They sparkled in the dim bar light. She thought he looked slightly Mediterranean. In any case, he had a distinctly European air about him. Other college-aged American boys didn't dress so impeccably.

He offered her a hand. "Hi. I'm—"

"Frank!"

They said it at the same time, though his was said with considerably less enthusiasm than Emma. She had remembered his name in the moment before he had said it. He was looking at her curiously, and she smiled.

"I'm Emma Woodhouse. It's Frank Churchill, isn't it? And you're a senior? You lived on the second floor in Donwell sophomore year."

He squinted his eyes and gave her a funny look. "First the really intense staring, and now you already know everything about me…if you weren't so pretty I'd think you were a bit of a creep."

Emma laughed and Frank smiled into his drink. "No, really," he continued, but then he laughed too.

"I _was_ staring, wasn't I?" Emma scolded herself in her head. Usually she was much more subtle, but her first drink had already gone to her head somewhat. "Sorry, I was just trying to remember your name. My friend used to have a ridiculous crush on you. Honestly, she did quite a bit of stalking, so you see, I had to hear about how cute you were all the time. It was a little pathetic, actually. You had a green shirt that she really liked. Green shirt days were her favorite."

Frank _was_ very handsome, that wasn't debatable. He belonged in the grainy, black and white photographs from an artsy fashion shoot. His eyes were distinctly feminine, with impossibly long lashes, and his hair alone was a work of art. She wondered if he used gel or if his hair just naturally managed to have that artfully windswept look.

"Emma, the real question is whether this friend is still single. I've recently become single myself, and I think I could deal with someone being a little obsessed over me at the moment." He smiled to show he was joking, and Emma laughed again.

"Sorry, you missed your chance. She's taken."

He nodded, and after a moment Emma said, "What brings you out tonight? We seem to be the only ones around."

"Ah," he said. He gave her a calculating look for a moment, and she saw one of his eyebrows rise subtly. "I'm here to get completely sloshed in an attempt to forget my troubles. You?"

She liked the brutal honesty in his answer. He was telling the truth, but with no self-pity. Emma found it very attractive. She pursed her lips and decided to tell the truth as well. "My friend's been down in the dumps lately after some jerk treated her badly, and I wanted to get her out of the apartment for a night."

He looked to the empty stools next to her. "So—this is your imaginary friend then…"

Emma snorted. "_No_. She left. This place wasn't what she had in mind, I guess."

It was exactly what Emma had had in mind. She just wished Harriet had managed to stick it out. Frank was certainly a nice distraction. It would have been good for Harriet to meet a nice, funny, _attractive_ man.

She looked at her empty glass and wondered if her cheeks were flushed. She met his eyes.

"So what kind of troubles are you trying to forget?" He seemed like too much of a playboy to have any worries at all, but she was curious. She realized it was a very personal question, but he struck her as the type who wouldn't mind sharing details.

"Hmm," he said, taking the last sip of his drink. "I don't think it's a conversation to start on empty glasses." He caught the bartender's attention. "Another for me and for the beautiful lady to my right. Keep the tab open. We're going to make a night of it."

* * *

Emma made her bleary eyes focus. All the lights in the dim bar had little halos around them. "That is _so_ sad," she said slowly, her consonants slurring together. Her elbow slid on the surface of the bar counter and she was forced to sit up. She'd been leaning forward, looking into Frank's chocolaty brown eyes. She took the olive from her drink and slid it off the toothpick with her teeth. She'd built up a collection of empty glasses on the surface of the bar. She was, quite simply, drunk. Frank had been good company, supplying a steady stream of drinks and compliments.

The bar had filled up with several more people, but she had been so engrossed in Frank's story that she hadn't noticed. She had noticed, however, how much closer their stools were. Their knees were touching.

"And before you ask yet again, _yes_, this is Jane Fairfax we're talking about."

She couldn't blame Frank for saying it, as she'd interrupted countless times to say, 'Jane Fairfax?' with as much disbelief as was possible to put into the word. Emma was beginning to think that Jane must have had a doppelganger that she sent to class to be dull and studious while the real Jane was out being devious and breaking young men's hearts. She had certainly done a number on Frank.

He had spent the last hour telling her all about their torrid history, and she didn't think Harriet could even rival the amount of messy misunderstandings and mix-ups that had caused the break up. Jane and Frank couldn't ever seem to get things straight. First he was to blame and then she was. Emma could tell they passed it back and forth like a torch, neither one willing to accept the responsibility for the things done wrong.

"I think the thing that bothered me the most was how everything always had to be a secret. She didn't want to tell people we were dating or to go out as a couple. It's like she was ashamed of me." Frank stared intently into the bottom of his glass. "She probably _is_ ashamed of me. But I told her, I said, we'll have to start changing things. She obviously was against it, and so I ended it. Well good riddance," he slurred, and Emma nodded vigorously.

"You're not missing anything. Jane's like…vanilla ice cream. It's nice and good, but it's _so freaking boring_. Like, vanilla, just get some sprinkles or something and _talk_ once in a while."

Frank nodded as seriously as if she hadn't mixed her metaphors and then gave her a look of drunken scrutiny.

"So what exactly is it that Jane did to you again?" Frank asked, squinting at her before throwing back the last of his drink. The bartender immediately came by to bring him another. He nodded in thanks and turned his attention back to her. "Call me crazy, but I get a sense that you really despise her…or wait, is that just me?"

Emma giggled a real honest to goodness giggle, like _Harriet_. She was momentarily ashamed of herself, but only until she took another sip. She gave him a small shrug and an unhurried smile, which he returned. She noticed how very straight and white his teeth were. He had rather pointy canines.

"I don't despise her, I just don't like her very much," she amended. "To tell you the truth, I don't actually _know_ her, but I can just _tell_." It was true. The sight of Jane immediately filled Emma with annoyance, and that's really all there was to it. It wasn't rational. After so many years, Emma no longer had something concrete to base her opinion on, but that didn't stop her in the slightest.

"I met her on the first day of class and introduced myself and tried to be friendly. She never made any effort. I put myself all the way out there. I was pretty desperately trying to meet people at that point, and she blew me off." Emma blew a strand of hair off her face with a huff. "Like you said though, good riddance. It's her loss…not like I need the friends…" She lazily drew pictures in the condensed water on the bar top, too absorbed in it to think about finishing her sentences.

Frank nodded. "I've never understood that about her. She's got walls_, _like enormous monolithic _walls_…I don't know what she's afraid of." He held his arms wide, gesturing Jane's walls, and then lowered them, resting one hand on Emma's thigh. Emma arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

Emma couldn't help thinking how similar she and Frank were, like pieces of artwork in a gallery collection. Their natures were variations on the same theme. They had both shared very private information for hours with each other, and they were little more than strangers. Of course neither of them could begin to understand the workings of reticent, reserved Jane Fairfax. She was an alien concept to them.

The bartender walked by and nabbed some of their glasses.

"Last call. Do you guys want one more?"

Emma nodded and Frank smiled. "Yes, I think we do."

Emma swallowed. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. "Maybe just a little one," she said to no one in particular. She only managed a few sips of her new drink.

"And somehow _you've_ managed to go through all of college unscathed. How do you do it? How have you managed to avoid being hurt by anyone? Beautiful girls are all the same; you must've been doing all the heartbreaking."

"Possibly," Emma said, and she leaned her head in her hand, elbow on the countertop. She had the feeling that it was just about bedtime. "But I think it's always ended on mutual disinterest. Well, maybe just my disinterest," she amended. She'd never thought very much about it, but she probably _had_ broken a few hearts in her time, or perhaps just maimed. "I just can't get interested in anyone. After more than two dates, it's like, I could never see this person ever again and that would be fine. Obviously that feeling does not spell out relationship. Mostly, I just avoid boys all together. They're very silly."

Frank laughed. "We are, aren't we? But so are girls."

"Everybody's silly," Emma began, in a singsong voice. "If I had a band, I would call it 'Everybody's Silly'."

Frank laughed and put his hand on her knee again, leaning in. His warm breath stirred the hair behind her ear and she almost shivered. "I hate to break it to you, but no one would buy any of your records."

Emma gave him an unconcerned look, leaning in to his touch. "I forgot to mention that I'd be wearing a swimsuit on the cover."

Frank laughed harder. "Now that's a different story."

The bar was emptying out again as the bartenders began to close things down. Frank closed his tab while Emma ungracefully slipped off the stool and tried to put on her coat. The collar and hood were lined with faux fur and when she looked down to button up, she got a mouthful. She couldn't seem to do it without the fur getting caught in her lip gloss and into her mouth. She made an awful face and tried to get the loose strands off of her tongue.

Frank was standing in his coat, ready to leave with his scarf tossed around his neck, watching her with an amused expression on his face. "Would you like some help with that?"

"Yes please. The buttons," Emma said, straightening her hair. Her shoes were starting to pinch her toes, and she wished she had worn something more practical for walking in the snow. She hadn't planned on being drunk in heels.

Frank started with the bottom buttons and worked up. He even pulled Emma's hood up around her head.

"Will you walk me home?" Emma asked, smiling brightly from the depths of her hood.

"As a matter of fact, I was just going to suggest that myself. Have you got your purse?"

* * *

It was a new world outside. The cars and sidewalks were all covered in several inches of snow. In the streetlamps everything glittered like diamonds. She loved the sound of their feet crunching the snow. Large clusters of flakes were still falling steadily from the sky. They clung to everything, their jackets, Frank's hair, and Emma felt like they'd been brushed with fairy dust. A few stuck to her eyelashes and cheeks before they melted.

They shuffled through the snow, down the block to Emma's apartment. She was very grateful in situations like this that she lived nearby.

Emma dug out her keys while they stood on the stoop. Frank was talking, possibly saying goodbye, but Emma was only pretending to listen; she was busy trying to figure out which one of them was taller.

She was 5'10", and they seemed about eye level, but she wondered. She attempted to see if bending both of her knees a little made any difference, and she immediately lost her balance on the icy stoop. Frank managed to grab her by the elbows before she crashed to the ground, and she accidentally ran her face into his, her mouth hitting the very corner of his on the way down.

He laughed loudly, steadying her as she regained her footing. "Kind of an unconventional way to kiss. It's much better like this."

And then his hand was cupping her face, and his mouth was warm on hers, and Emma didn't much care if he were taller or not. She'd been waiting what seemed like the whole night for him to kiss her. She dropped her purse and threw her arms around his neck, pushing her hip bones into his. The kiss was sloppy, the junction of their mouths wet and slippery. They bumbled their way up against the door of her apartment. His hands were warm on her hips. He tasted like mint and tequila, and when he pulled away, his mouth was shiny with her lip gloss.

"So you want to come inside," she asked. She watched the slow, wolfish smile that broke across his face and grinned.

"Of course. _Someone_ has to help you get all your buttons undone again."

Emma giggled, this time with no apparent self-deprecation or thoughts of Harriet, and with his arm around her waist she unlocked the door, and they stepped inside out of the cold, falling snow.


	6. The Gallant Gala

You Were the First Mile

By Luna

Chapter 6: A Gallant Gala

* * *

Emma woke the next morning because she had to pee and also because Frank was singing to himself in the kitchen. She blinked, rubbing her tired eyes and listened to him for a while, laughing when he failed to hit the high notes. She couldn't decipher the melody, but after a few more minutes of listening, she decided that it was Lady Gaga and started laughing even harder.

She took a moment to stretch, and then she slid out of bed, pulled some pajamas out of her dresser, and went to use the bathroom and compose her appearance a little. She filled a glass with water, sipping the refreshing liquid quickly. Her throat was dry and her head ached a little, so she opened the cabinet and took two Aspirin. She shut the cabinet door and caught her reflection in the mirror, wincing slightly. She was happy that she'd made a detour for the bathroom before walking into the kitchen. She looked like a frightful mess.

Her eyes were ringed with the make-up she'd neglected to take off the night before, and her hair was in an untidy mess of tangles. She threw her hair back into a pony tail and quickly grabbed a washcloth and some soap. When she was finished, she had a slightly scrubbed look about her, and her nose was a little pink, but at least she no longer resembled a street walker. She deemed herself presentable and walked out to the kitchen, curious about what she would see.

Emma wasn't disappointed. Her kitchen was a bit of a mess, with various ingredients for pancakes spread all across the countertops. Frank was in his boxers and the shirt he'd worn the night before, pouring some batter into a pan. His hair still looked perfect, unlike her mess of tangles, and she wondered suddenly if he had fixed it when he woke up.

"Good morning," he said cheerily as he caught sight of her. He had a large splotch of flour over one cheek, and Emma walked over and wiped it off.

"Morning." She noticed the burned pancakes in the trash just as she caught the smell of them. She wrinkled her nose and he laughed.

"I was possibly still drunk when I made those, but these will be better, I promise."

The late morning sunshine lit up the kitchen as Emma began to clear away all the ingredients and got out juice and plates for them.

"I wanted to make us a proper breakfast. I looked around, but you're suspiciously low on breakfast foods," Frank said, in mock accusation. "You're not a cereal eater, are you?" he accused.

Emma laughed. He'd said it as though it were a crime.

"Busted," she admitted, and he sighed, shaking his head.

"It's all I have time for in the morning!" she said, laughingly defending herself. "I'm never awake enough to make a real breakfast."

"Emma," he chided. "If there's one thing that living in England for a year taught me, it's that there's nothing like a big, greasy breakfast the day after drinking. You should at least keep some bacon around, just for days like these."

The information clicked in her head. She hadn't been able to remember it the night before, but he'd studied abroad in London.

"Is that right?" she teased, smiling across the kitchen at him.

Frank nodded, placing a steaming plate of pancakes in front of her at the table.

"After a night of drinking 8 or 9 pints, greasy food is the only cure." He said it with certainty. "I think we both would feel better if there were bacon involved."

She laughed, but as he sat down across from her at the small table, Emma had to admit that pancakes drenched in butter and syrup was exactly what she needed. And some bacon couldn't have hurt...

All the while they'd chatted Emma had been amazed. It was the morning after, and he was still cute, and he was still funny, _and_ he made good pancakes. Emma could not get over her good luck. She was well aware that such encounters didn't usually end in pancakes.

She took a sip of juice, looking him over. His mouth was curved up into a sensuous smile as he ate. He looked so attractive sitting there across from her. She couldn't keep the smile from her face.

Soon after they had finished breakfast, Frank got dressed and gathered his things to go. On his way out the door he gave her a kiss and promised to call.

Emma felt like a tornado had gone through her life. She took a shower and tried to think while she shampooed her hair. She knew for sure that she didn't regret the night or sleeping with Frank, but she wasn't sure if she was interested in seeing him again.

Any time she thought about him, she smiled. She liked the way he kissed. He was funny and charming. Not to mention, he looked like a model. She had to like him, didn't she?

She shut off the water and stepped out to towel off. She tousled her hair and looked at her reflection from several different angles, making different eyes with every face.

Yes, yes she was inclined to think she did.

* * *

Emma spent the majority of her break writing essays she had put off for her classes. On Thanksgiving Day, she celebrated with a quiet meal by herself, though she called her father to talk for a few minutes. It wasn't until several days later when Harriet returned home from the break that she remembered that Frank was supposed to call and that he hadn't.

She sat on her couch, staring at her phone in confusion while Harriet brought up loads of clean laundry that she had brought back from home.

Emma _had_ thought about Frank that first day, sighing in happiness every once in a while, but then somehow she had forgotten about him. She hadn't expected him to call right away, and she hadn't bothered to wait by her phone for a message from him. In fact, he hadn't crossed her mind once since she'd last seen him.

Emma was forced to conclude that she didn't really like him after all.

She felt a little disappointed; she'd liked the idea of liking him. It was unfortunate that her feelings seemed to end with that. As with every other potential love interest of her college career, there was just something that kept her disengaged.

Sure, Frank was a fun diversion, but she already knew several qualities about him that turned her off. They had too many differences. She couldn't start liking him when she knew how vain he was. He spent more time on his hair than she did on hers! And though she hadn't said so at the time, she knew he was just as much at fault as Jane for their break-up. He hadn't exactly been an angel. _And_ he was on the rebound. She knew he couldn't be thinking seriously about her when he was still so stuck on Jane Fairfax.

She shook her head. As always, there were simply too many issues for her to get attached. With a little nod of her head, she decided that they would be friends. If he called, she'd go out with him again, but she wasn't going to seek him out. She would leave it all to him, and she would watch his behavior. If he showed signs of actually liking her, she would break it off immediately, though she had the distinct feeling that with Frank, emotions weren't going to be a problem.

* * *

"What are you wearing tomorrow?" Harriet asked Emma one Thursday evening after they had returned from Thanksgiving break. Emma had just gotten home from the daycare. "I'm not really sure what's appropriate."

"_What_?" she asked. Emma was completely confused. Frank had called, and they'd made plans for Saturday, but Harriet didn't know anything about it and she was talking about a different day. Emma racked her memory, but couldn't come up with anything.

"For the daycare's charity dinner. It's tomorrow, isn't it? I thought it was…" She hurriedly grabbed her day planner to check. "I wrote it down for tomorrow. Was that the wrong day?" Harriet asked anxiously.

Emma almost slapped herself on the forehead. "I forgot. I can't believe it. You're right; it _is_ tomorrow evening. Thank goodness you said something." Emma was appalled with herself. She didn't know where her head was.

Every year the university hosted a dinner for several charities. The daycare was one of the organizations that benefited from the proceeds. The affair was black tie, and each plate cost about a hundred dollars, but 95 percent of the money went directly to the charities. Many local business officials and town officials attended, as well as the wealthier families and some of the college sport teams who raised money specifically for the event. Emma had attended for several years and had even managed to meet the mayor.

This year she had had her father purchase a seat for her, Harriet, and Grant, but the event itself had completely slipped from her mind.

She thought for a moment about Harriet's original question. "I was just going to go for a standard black dress. That's always appropriate." Emma's was a ways off from standard. Long and clingy, it hugged every curve and was basically backless. It made her feel like a movie star. She'd purchased it after the dinner the previous year and had only been waiting for a chance to wear it.

Emma knew that Harriet was more interested in what _she_ should wear than what Emma was going to wear and had only asked the question to start up the conversation. She thought for a moment. "You should wear that silky blue one you have," Emma suggested. "Let's go see how it looks, and what about your hair? Do you know how you're going to wear it yet?"

Harriet smiled gratefully, and they walked in the direction of her room.

It was rather like having a life-size Barbie to play with again.

* * *

Emma was chilly as she stood in the entrance hall and waited for the coat checker to take her coat. She hoped the main room would be a bit warmer. She thought that whoever had planned the event should have taken into consideration the fact that the women were not going to be dressed in accordance with the weather. High heels and cocktail dresses never mingled well with snow.

She took her ticket in exchange for her coat and walked with Harriet into the main room, enjoying the sounds their heels made on the black and white marble floor. Emma sometimes had the impression that she should have been born in another time period when pomp and ceremony were the order of every day instead of special occasions. She wished that men always wore blazers; they made everyone look more attractive. She didn't think she would mind having gentlemen stand and bow every time she entered a room.

Some people were already sitting at the tables, which were set with impressive china and glasses, whose facets glittered in the warm light of the candles on every table. The overhead lights were dimmed, making the large hall seem impossibly cozy.

Most of the guests who weren't sitting were gathered in small groups on what would later become the dance floor. She looked around the room and spotted Grant immediately. He was talking with their boss, Mrs. Goddard, and her husband. He was smiling lightly as they spoke, unaware that she was looking. He was easy to see, as he was several inches taller than Mrs. Goddard and her husband. His upright posture and the cut of his black blazer really accentuated the straight line of his shoulders.

Emma rested her eyes on him, looking him over. She realized again for the first time in a long time how attractive Grant was. She saw him every day, and she'd gotten used to him. Looking at him from the short distance gave her some perspective. He wasn't a vapid, pretty boy, like Frank. Intelligence was etched across his face. His features weren't feminine like most of the conventionally handsome models in magazines, but there was just something about him. His mouth and eyes were very kind.

She watched as Grant turned slightly, as though feeling her close scrutiny, and he caught her in the midst of staring at him. The recognition dawned across his face as they made eye contact, and he gave her a strange look. It shifted to appreciation as he took in her appearance, looking her over the same way she'd done to him. She saw him blink a few times, and she smiled slowly. She was about to walk over to him when a small bit of feedback announced that someone was trying to use a mike.

"If everyone would find their seats we'll go ahead and get things started. Your table and seat number are on the tickets you received at the door. If you need assistance—"

Emma tuned out to look at her ticket. She looked at Harriet's too and came to the unfortunate realization that they were at separate tables. She wondered if she would have to sit apart from Grant as well.

Harriet found her table right away, as it was only a few feet from where they had been standing, but Emma had to search for another minute to find her own, which was about four away from Harriet's. She smiled at her table-mates, but as she settled down in her chair, she looked up to see some kind of commotion going on. She was surprised; commotion was the last thing she expected from a charity dinner.

With a sudden sickening feeling in her stomach, she realized that Phil and Harriet had been seated next to each other. She vaguely remembered asking him if he wanted to purchase a ticket, though she realized now that he had probably only bought one in an effort to impress her somehow. She was sure that he was only in attendance now to get his food. After the night of the party, he had made absolutely no effort to contact her or Harriet and had snubbed them both when they met in public.

Emma was too far away to catch any more than small snippets of the conversation, but she could guess perfectly well what was going on. Phil was refusing to sit next to Harriet and wanted to switch tables, but there had been several options for the entrée and no one at the nearby tables had ordered steak like Phil.

She could see poor Harriet getting more embarrassed and closer to tears at every moment as more and more people's eyes were drawn to the scene Phil was making. A quiet muttering was running through the crowd as more and more people turned their heads toward Harriet. It was vicious, what he was doing. Emma didn't understand why he couldn't just sit down at the table. It would only be for a few hours, and he certainly could ignore Harriet as much as he wanted. Emma knew Harriet wouldn't have dared to try to make conversation with him. Harriet looked as though she wanted to bolt from the room. She was breathing quickly and her cheeks were very red. Emma couldn't blame her in the slightest; it was absolutely humiliating!

Emma was getting out of her chair, about to do something—_anything_ to help her poor friend, but someone beat her to it. She sank slowly back in to her chair, a silly smile on her face as Grant walked up and pointed Phil over to another table, taking his place. He gave Harriet's shoulder a light pat as he sat down next to her, and Emma's chest felt tight as she tried to breathe; she was too full of some strong emotion. If she had been any closer, she would have given Grant the largest hug imaginable for helping Harriet.

The speaker introduced the charities and allowed the people in charge at each location to make a speech. Emma managed to listen to Mrs. Goddard's speech, probably because she often mentioned her "wonderful student workers" but after that, Emma couldn't keep her mind or her eyes off of Harriet's table. The other speeches were completely lost on her as she stared intently at the table four down from hers.

Grant was at a weird angle, and she wasn't in his line of sight. She did manage to catch his eye once as he looked over, and she tried to put as much of her gratitude and respect into one look as she could. She wasn't sure if he understood; he looked surprised to find her gazing at him, but he did give her a crooked smile before turning back away.

The food was delicious, but Emma ate without tasting. At that moment she wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between the meal and a frozen TV dinner. The people sitting next to her tried to make conversation, but Emma never gave more than vague, noncommittal responses and nods. Her thoughts were concentrated entirely upon Harriet and wonderful, wonderful Grant. She could not wait until they had cleared the plates. She finished well before everyone else, and so the wait was especially painful.

As soon as they started playing music, Emma assumed the dinner portion of the evening was over, and she put her napkin on her plate and hurried over to her friends.

She put her arms around Harriet, giving her a squeeze. She looked fragile. "Are you all right?" Emma asked her anxiously, though Harriet was looking inexpressibly better than she had earlier in the night. She looked pale, and her movements were jittery.

She gave Emma a tiny smile. "I'll be fine. I was just in shock while it was all happening, and I was really shaken up all through dinner, but Grant has been talking to me and keeping me calm. As long as I don't think about it very much, I think I'm all right."

Emma sighed in sympathy and gave Harriet another hug. Harriet patted Emma's shoulder, and when Emma pulled away, Harriet stood up and straightened her dress. "I'm going to use the restroom." She looked around the room, a frightful look in her eyes. "I hope people aren't still looking at me like I'm an alien."

Emma assured her that they weren't and that most of the people had certainly already forgotten the little scuffle at the beginning of the evening. They were more interested in the food. She gave Emma a wobbly smile, and Emma watched as she walked away. She slowly turned her head to look over at Grant, giving him a tender smile.

Grant had sat back in his chair and was looking up at her seriously. She could tell he had questions. Not wanting to admit she was wrong, she had failed to mention what Phil had said and done at that fateful party, and so Grant was considerably out of the loop. She thought this made his actions even more gallant than if he had known what a jerk Phil was.

The band was playing a soft melody, and Emma turned her attention to them. After the first few adventurous couples had taken to the dance floor, the space had filled with people. She watched them for a moment before looking down at him.

"Knightley, will you dance with me?" she asked. They were playing waltz style music and most of the couples didn't do much more than sway.

He looked surprised, and Emma was prepared to drag him out there anyway if he said no, but instead he nodded slowly. He got up and Emma gave him a smile as they walked to the dance floor. His warm hand on the bare skin of her back made her shiver slightly, and she placed her hand on his shoulder. Their other hands fit nicely together. His crisp white shirt made his eyes seem very bright.

"Knightley, you're amazing," she said as they began to dance. She watched his eyes widen. He let out a breath of air in surprise and looked away. She knew that praise made him uncomfortable and so she'd asked him to dance mainly so that he couldn't get away from her. All previous attempts of hers to compliment him throughout their acquaintance had ended with him basically bolting from the room with various excuses like 'I have to get more paper towels' or 'Henry forgot his sock'.

For someone made of rocks, he was suspiciously bad at taking her compliments.

"Thank you for helping Harriet. I know I'm usually too busy trying to annoy you to tell you, but you're a really great friend and I'm happy I know you. If I didn't know you, I'd just be stuck wondering who that great guy was, and I'd be jealous of the lucky girl he was dancing with." She smiled up at him.

He laughed at her statement, though he still looked flustered.

"I didn't do anything, really. What if I said I'd only walked over because I was hungry and I didn't want the dinner to be delayed any longer?" He gave her a smile.

She laughed at him. "Then I would have to say that you were lying. I know you better than that."

He smiled and then looked serious. He searched her face, trying to find an answer. "Phil was trying to publicly humiliate Harriet. He was doing it on purpose. Why? Did something happen?"

Emma cringed. With all he'd done, Grant deserved to know the truth, but Emma still didn't want to admit how wrong she'd been. She had no choice.

"You can tell me 'I told you so' as often as you want because you were right about _everything_. Every single thing." She sighed, looking away from Grant's surprised expression. She reluctantly continued. "Phil was only interested in me, not Harriet. I misread all of the signals. He made that very obvious a few weeks ago, and ever since then he's been awful. I wasn't the nicest when I turned him down, and I think I really wounded his pride. He just keeps taking it out on Harriet." Emma frowned and shook her head angrily. "God, I was so stupid, and everyone got hurt. I'm never barging in where I don't belong ever again." She sighed unhappily, the corners of her mouth turned in a pout.

He lowered his head to catch her downcast eyes, making her look up. He gave her a smile. "Don't beat yourself up over it. You had good intentions, whatever the ending. I'm sure eventually they'll both be able to appreciate that. You were just trying to make people happy." Emma sighed, giving him a wane smile. She didn't know what she had done to deserve such a great friend.

Emma stopped dancing then. He looked down at her in confusion, but she pulled her hand from his and then reached up to give him a hug. It was easy because they were already standing so close to each other.

But she had to do something, because even though he had absolutely every right to, he still wasn't telling her 'I told you so', and Emma knew that if the situations had been reversed that she certainly would not have been so gracious. After the moment of surprise had passed, Grant hugged her back. She didn't care if other couples ran into them because they weren't dancing any longer. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, and it was oddly comforting.

"Emma," he said softly and suddenly, and she raised her head to look at him.

"Yes?"

There was something serious and yet hopeful to his tone, and she was curious as to what he was going to say. She tilted her head back to look up at him. His expression was intent. It wasn't the first time he'd acted in such a way. He'd looked the same the night they had been in her kitchen together, before he abruptly left for the evening. He opened his mouth slightly, about to speak, but the pause grew larger, and he finally closed his mouth again.

Not for the first time, Emma wished she could see inside his head to what he was thinking, but unlike her, Grant thought before he spoke, and whatever had been on his mind at the moment he'd said her name was staying with him. He sighed lightly and gave her a smile.

"Nothing. Never mind."

Emma looked at him curiously. He was _so_ peculiar sometimes. "Are you sure?" He'd caught her interest and she wanted to know what he was going to say.

He sighed again. "Yeah. It's just…" He paused again, and Emma thought maybe he was going to say something after all, but then he shrugged. "I just wanted to say that you look really nice."

Emma grinned widely, surprised. Her cheeks tinged pink with pleasure. She couldn't think of the last time Grant had given her a compliment. Since he was so sparse with them, she knew he must have really meant it. She heard it from other people all the time, but it seemed especially meaningful when coming from Grant. She knew she shouldn't act so pleased or he would think she was vain, but she couldn't help herself.

"Thank you," she said happily, still grinning. She looked up at him from under her lashes. "I was thinking the same thing about you earlier."

He laughed, and everything seemed right as his arm tightened around her and they began to dance to the music again.

Considering the atrocious beginning, Emma was surprised to find that she was rather enjoying the evening. She wouldn't have minded doing the same thing every night. She gave Grant another bright smile, and they danced for the rest of the evening.


	7. A Luncheon and Pythagoras

**You Were the First Mile**

By Luna

Chapter 7: A Luncheon and Pythagoras

* * *

"I'll start off with the salad with walnuts and goat cheese and then have the whole wheat penne pasta with roasted eggplant and tomatoes," Emma said to the waiter, ducking her head a little to avoid the direct sunlight coming in the large windows that lined the entrance of the bistro. The afternoon sunlight was bright, and Emma could see the constant stream of pedestrians on the sidewalk outside.

Emma handed her menu to the bistro's waiter and waited for Taylor to finish ordering. They'd been in nonstop conversation from the moment they had entered the bistro, so neither had had much time to examine the menu. Emma had chosen the first item she'd seen. It felt so good and natural to be out with Taylor; she knew they had been drifting apart, and she was making the effort to try to keep it from happening.

The older she got, the more this seemed to happen. It seemed an inevitable fact that friends drifted apart. At first, the changes in the relationship were slight, almost unnoticeable, and over time and without much ado friendships were lost or seriously altered, and no one seemed to know when or how it had happened.

New, different relationships always crept up to take their place. In college, nothing was stable. Every year there were new dorms to live in, new roommates to deal with, and new class schedules. Emma would pass a familiar face on campus and realize with shock that at one point they had been close, but because they no longer had a class together they never would be again.

She felt that with every year, she had dropped or altered some part of herself, like shedding an old skin, getting closer and closer to the real Emma. Some of the same things were still important to her, but most of the trivial things that had used to matter so much no longer did. She could only think back with disgust on how much of a snob she had been in her younger years. She was inclined to think she was a better person than she had been before she arrived at Pemberley. She wondered if it was what people meant by growing up.

She was certain that she did not want to outgrow her friendship with Taylor, and since they both had issues making time for the other person, Emma had suggested that they start having a weekly date together on Saturday afternoons. A local bistro provided an excellent location for catching up.

Taylor stirred around the lemon in her iced tea and gave Emma a devilish look. She waited until the waiter had walked away before she leaned in. "What's this I hear about you and Frank Churchill suddenly being an item? If this were sophomore year again, I think I probably would have murdered you out of jealousy already."

"Thank goodness for Mike," Emma said and then sighed in annoyance. "How is the gossip already flying around campus?"

Frank had finally called back, and they'd met up again with the same kind of funny, meaningless banter as before, only the night ended at his apartment instead of hers this time around. After spending only two nights together, she was amazed that the campus was already buzzing, especially considering the meaninglessness of her relationship with Frank.

Taylor smiled and shrugged. "It's not like anyone has anything better to do than speculate on who's doing what with whom." She took a sip of tea. "Incidentally, is he getting lucky?"

Emma rolled her eyes and then gave her friend an arch look. "Maybe. Don't be nosy," she said, teasing Taylor.

"Come on. I'll need details if I'm going to vicariously live through you."

Emma buttered herself a piece of the complimentary rosemary bread. She didn't much care what was being said about her and Frank, but she was dying for any other gossip. She'd been born with the insatiable need to know about the lives of her peers, and without Taylor around to gossip with, she was feeling considerably out of the loop.

"So who else have people been talking about? Any really good _scandalous_ news?" She asked, partly to avoid answering Taylor's question. She half wondered if people were talking about Phil's behavior at the charity dinner. It had not been subtle.

Taylor laughed. "Oh _right_, Miss Don't-Be-Nosy." Taylor thought for a moment and then sat up straight, snapping her fingers. "I did hear something about Will Darcy. Apparently he's with this freshman girl now. Or at least they went home from a party together. Who knows the truth behind the rumor."

Emma sat forward in her chair with interest. That _was_ a rather interesting tidbit of news. Emma was a year older than Will, but she could still remember the wave of chatter his arrival on campus had brought. Once they caught sight of him, the older girls on campus practically fell over themselves trying to be Mrs. Robinson, while the younger ones just fought to catch his attention. With his killer smile, pretty eyes, and good-guy demeanor, it was easy to understand why the Pemberley girls were always running after Will Darcy. Emma was just surprised that someone had finally managed to catch him.

"Huh," she murmured after a moment. "I wonder what she's like."

Taylor shrugged and then smiled mischievously. "I heard something else you'll definitely be interested in…something about Grant and Jane Fairfax "having a thing"."

Emma nearly choked on the water she was swallowing. She hastily wiped up the spill with her napkin while Taylor laughed. Nothing could set Emma off like a rumor about Grant, and Taylor had waited until the perfect moment to spring the news on her.

"_What_? Knightley? And _Jane_? Gross, Taylor, I'm trying to eat."

The very idea of it made her sick. Jane was so… _Jane_. Emma wished, not for the first time, that Jane Fairfax would transfer to another school so that she would never have to hear another word about her. Emma was sure, beyond a doubt, that there was absolutely no truth to whatever rumor Taylor had heard.

"Knightley wouldn't be interested in Jane," Emma said with assurance. "I don't think he's ever dated anyone at Pemberley. He always had some girl in Boston. That's over now, but he wouldn't turn around and start up with _Jane_. She's too quiet, and _he's_ too quiet; what would they ever talk about?"

"Maybe they don't do much talking," Taylor insinuated, enjoying the repulsed face her friend made. It wasn't the first time they had discussed rumors about Grant and various women, and Emma always reacted in the same way with complete denial and over-rationalizations. She seemed oblivious to her propensity for overreactions to any news regarding Grant, but Taylor noticed every time. Indeed, it was half of the fun of bringing him up in conversation.

"I can't believe people are talking about Knightley and Jane," Emma continued. "I guess they _are_ both tutors, but big deal. That doesn't mean anything except that they work together…and that they like math."

Taylor rolled her eyes and took a bite of her sandwich. "I don't see why it's so impossible," she said, after she finished chewing. "She's seems nice. You could always just ask him about it, and then we'd know for sure if it's a rumor or not."

Emma scoffed, taking a few bites of her pasta. "I'm _not_ going to ask Knightley about Jane Fairfax."

"Why not?" Taylor asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Reason number one: I don't really care. Reason number two: I don't want to," Emma replied and then sipped primly on her drink.

Taylor shook her head. "I'll just ignore the fact that reason number one was _completely_ false for the moment…" Taylor laughed as Emma gave her a scathing look. "I don't see the problem. You're friends. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you asked. Believe me; he already knows how nosy you can be."

Emma looked at Taylor in exasperation. "You seriously expect me to ask him about his feelings for a girl? That's not exactly a subject matter we discuss."

"Oh, come on. I know you guys talk about everything."

It was nearly a true statement. Grant was always one of the first people Emma went to when she had an exciting or interesting story to tell, a new movie or band to talk about, or when she wanted to vent. She could talk to him like no one else.

He was more than just her sympathetic listener though. They did have more meaningful conversations. He was naturally more reticent than Emma, but through the years, she'd gotten him to open up. She didn't think he had any reservations with her; she certainly didn't have any with him. Conversation flowed easily and naturally between them. They discussed their hopes for the future, their fears and their wishes. Embarrassing and proud moments in turn. He was the only person she'd ever had a conversation with about her father, how absent he'd been from her life, how cold. In the downtime at the daycare, they didn't have much else to do except talk.

Conversation about_ feelings_, on the other hand, were a completely different matter. They'd somehow always managed to skirt directly around the issue. The rule was unspoken between them.

Emma had been in a relationship when she met Grant, and although it hadn't lasted, it had set the tone for the rest of their friendship. They simply never touched on _that_ subject. Emma had always had Taylor to talk about men with, and Grant was composed of rocks, so she doubted that he talked to anyone about his feelings for women.

"Not everything, Taylor," Emma replied seriously. She took a sip from her water. "Regardless, I don't have to ask him about it because I already know the answer. The day that Knightley and Jane Fairfax become a couple is the day that I marry Phil Elton."

* * *

Emma returned home from class one afternoon to find Harriet crying in the living room. Emma rushed over. Her eyes were red, and her face was puffy from crying. She looked completely miserable.

"What's wrong? Is it Phil?" she asked with concern.

"No. It's _math_. I'm going to fail my math class," Harriet wailed. Emma noticed for the first time the open text book and calculator next to Harriet on the couch. "I won't pass unless I get an A on the next test, and I don't understand any of it. I haven't for the past month. I'm so stupid. I should have just dropped the class after the first lecture." She broke into a fresh set of tears.

Emma almost started laughing, but held it in. She'd immediately assumed the trouble was with Phil, and how very wrong she had been. She gave Harriet a comforting hug, rubbing her back.

"Don't get upset," Emma consoled. "We can fix this. We'll get you a tutor, and with some hard work you'll ace the last test. You'll look back on this class and laugh at how much you worried. I know you can do it, and Knightley's a math tutor so I'll just ask him to sort you out. I can even do it today at work."

Harriet's eyes glowed with hope. She sniffed pitifully. "Really?"

Emma couldn't help smiling down at her. She gave Harriet's shoulder a light squeeze. "For sure. You'll be like Pythagoras in no time."

* * *

It had felt like a longer day than most for Emma at the daycare. Heather Bates had wanted to talk, in the minutest of details, about the stray kitten her family had taken in and named Apple. Emma, as a result, could say with certainty just how many times the cat had pooped in the first five hours that Heather had had it, not to mention a thousand other detail she'd never wished to know.

To top it off, Henry had been in rare form as well. After some teasing from a few of the older children, he was convinced that a small swelling on one of his index fingers was a sure sign that he was developing a disease and was doomed to die. He held up the fingers from both hands in front of her face.

"Look!" His eyes were filled with horror and fear, and he was breathing very rapidly. "They're not the same size. It's getting worse. Isn't it getting worse? It's worse."

Emma grasped both of his hands in hers, forcing him to look away from them and at her. "Henry, you're not sick. That's just normal. Everyone's fingers look like that. Please don't get worried about it. Did you want some more orange juice?" She tried to distract him, but he could not be deterred.

In no time, he'd worked himself up to the point that he had an asthma attack. She and Grant had to rush around in the office to try to find his inhaler, and by the time she brought it out to him, the attack had passed.

She was not sorry at the end of the day to bundle them all off and send them home for their parents to deal with. She was overcome with the feeling of happiness that she was still young and didn't have any of her own children to deal with.

They finished cleaning for the day and Emma took a long, deep breath. Frank was picking her up after work, and she could not wait to leave.

"Tired?" Grant asked her, and she nodded, smiling wanly.

"What a day."

He gave a wry smile. "I know. But at least we can go home and relax now; their parents have to keep them entertained for the whole rest of the night."

Emma laughed. "Maybe you can relax, but I've got to start studying. I can't believe finals are almost here. They're going to kill me. Where did the semester go?" She put on her coat and gloves as she spoke and led the way outside.

An orange sun was setting in the gray-white sky. It looked like a big bowl of milk turned upside down. Every breath Emma exhaled became a cloud in the cold air.

"Where's your car?" Grant asked curiously. His was the only one in the lot.

"I'm getting a ride," she replied. Harriet had dropped her off. He was about to ask her another question when she interrupted. She'd suddenly remembered the math problem Harriet was facing.

"Can you tutor Harriet? She's about to fail her math class. I think with soccer she just didn't have time to study or do her homework. She's really upset and worried. I walked in on her having a nervous breakdown, and I promised I'd ask you to help."

He shrugged good-naturedly. "Sure. Just have her come to the math office. I'm sure Jane or I could do it."

She rolled her eyes at Jane's name and gave Grant a calculating look. He was waiting to leave so that Emma didn't have to stand alone, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. He looked cold but cheery.

The thought of him with Jane still wasn't sitting well with her for some reason. In fact, the more she thought about it, the less she liked the idea of it. She wasn't so sure any longer that they weren't together. Maybe they _did_ have "a thing", as Taylor had put it. She'd never minded about the girl in Boston, but with Jane it was a completely different story. The very thought of Grant and Jane made her stomach hurt.

"You're not—" She suddenly paused, and after the silence continued to drag on and she never completed her sentence, he looked quizzically at her.

"I'm not what?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "Freezing? Seriously regretting not bringing a pair of gloves to work?"

Emma couldn't think of a graceful way to ask it, so she blurted it out. "You're not _dating_ Jane Fairfax, are you?" Halfway through the question she looked down at her shoes. She sneaked a glance up at Grant, and his face was a mixture of shock and growing amusement.

He sniffed in the cold air. "No, we're just friends," he said slowly, giving her a strange look. "Why—" he began to say at the same time as she said "Just wondering."

He tilted his head, still looking her over. "Are you jealous?" he asked curiously.

Emma's mouth dropped open and then she laughed, throwing her head back. He was doing the same thing she'd done to him when he'd asked about Phil.

"Jealous? Of _Jane Fairfax_? Hardly. Why would you think that?" She didn't like the smug smile he had on.

His smile got even wider as he said, "Just wondering," quoting her. The distance between them had shortened as they talked. She was close enough now to see the merriment glistening in his gray-blue eyes.

"Don't be cute," she said, pointing at him.

"Cute? I think you mean strong and manly."

Emma laughed. "No, I'm pretty sure I meant cute."

He looked like he was about to ask her something else when Frank pulled into the parking lot. Grant looked at it curiously, trying to recognize the car. When Frank pulled into the spot in front of them, she saw the recognition dawn on Grant's face. She couldn't read the mixture of emotions that were playing across his face.

"This is my ride. Thanks for waiting, Knightley. See you tomorrow," she said, waving over her shoulder while she walked to the car. If he made a response, she didn't hear it. She buckled her seat belt and got settled. A quick glance out the window showed that Grant was no longer smiling as they pulled away, but Emma was immediately distracted.

"Hello beautiful," Frank said, and Emma flashed him a cheery smile, swiping a few strands of hair off of her face as they backed out of the parking lot. "Hungry?"

"_Starving,_" Emma said, and her stomach rumbled loudly to confirm it. She pointed a finger at her abdomen and gave him a look. He laughed, pulling out into the street.

"Okay, I get the point. It's scary that you can do that on cue."

Emma grinned and pointed at the upcoming light. "Take a left here; I know exactly where we should go."

"Mmmgmphmmm," Emma moaned a few minutes later, practically inhaling a French fry covered in cheese and chili sauce. She'd had Frank drive to her favorite fast food establishment. It was a locally owned ice cream and food shop; although she was sure in the winter they didn't sell much ice cream, Emma had long considered their chili cheese fries and hot dogs as basically divine. They were impossible to eat neatly, and soon she had cheese on all the fingers of her right hand, and probably on her face, but she didn't care. She was in heaven.

Frank gave her a look as he sipped on a milkshake. "Weirdly enough, it's kind of sexy to watch you eat that."

Emma gave a bark of laughter, accidentally spewing out a bit of French fry, and Frank made a face, wrinkling his nose. "Not so much anymore."

Emma laughed harder, using a napkin to cover her mouth until she could swallow. "I've always thought cheese was a rather sexy accessory myself," she finally managed to say in response.

He gave her a dazzling smile and slurped from his milkshake, and Emma slid another fry into her mouth. Frank had a ready repertoire of flattering compliments at hand, and Emma couldn't say that she minded in the least. It was half of the reason she was in the car with him now. The other half was sitting in her lap, covered in cheese, ready and waiting to be consumed. If he wanted to take her out and buy her food and drinks, she certainly wasn't going to refuse him. She knew it was shallow, and whenever she was with him, she could never completely get rid of the small, nagging feeling that told her so. On the other hand, she loved the attention.

She knew, rationally, that he couldn't mean all of the nice, pretty things he said, but she liked that he thought to say them, nonetheless. A well spoken compliment had always been her weakness, and Frank always knew when to throw one in.

Emma was well aware of her attributes, but it certainly was nice to hear it out loud from someone every once in a while. Lord knows she wasn't going to get it from Grant, and he was the only other significant male in her life at the moment. No, from that source she was much more likely to get some kind of well-meant critique, and while it might improve her character, it was hardly flattering. Frank was much better for a girl's vanity. She couldn't lie; her ego liked the boost. She just wished that for once they wouldn't have to talk about Jane Fairfax. In the small amount of time she had spent with Frank, his ex had always dominated the conversation. It was beginning to annoy Emma more and more.

"—she's probably with John Dixon right now, anyway."

Emma had zoned out, but snapped to attention again. She'd always loved gossip. "John Dixon? Isn't he dating someone?" Emma was certain that he was. She hadn't thought Jane to be such a trollop.

Frank shrugged unconcernedly. "Yeah, but they always got on. It made me mad. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd gone right over to him, girlfriend or no."

Emma tilted her head thoughtfully, letting out a small 'huh'. She never would have expected this from Jane, but then again, she was coming to the realization that Jane was nothing at all like she'd imagined her to be. With all she'd done to Frank, maybe she was the type of girl to go after someone else's boyfriend after all.

At the same time, however, wasn't it exactly the same as what Frank was doing with her? She didn't have a boyfriend, but it was obvious that he was on the rebound. How could he be angry at Jane for rebounding with someone new as well?

She could feel Frank's eyes on her and looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"Listen to me. I don't know why I'm talking about her." He shook his head ruefully, but gave her a soft smile. The cheese fries in Emma's stomach gave a little jump at the sultry curve of his mouth. "Where to now?"

* * *

"Do you need help?" Jane asked pleasantly from her seat at the main desk of the math office, and Harriet froze in the doorway. Emma had given her express instructions to get help from Grant and to avoid Jane at all costs. She blinked nervously.

"I'm supposed to meet with Grant," she said, eying the small room. There were several tables with students in groups of two. Every one of them had an open book and a calculator. Harriet didn't see Grant anywhere. She sincerely hoped she hadn't gotten the time wrong.

"He said he was going to be right back, though that was a while ago. I can help you in the meantime, if you'd like. I'm not busy. Is this for calculus?" Jane was smiling, and Harriet didn't know what to do. She couldn't accept, but she certainly couldn't refuse either without giving a convincing answer.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and shifted her bag on her shoulder, looking around her again while Jane waited expectantly. She was just about to mutter something about coming back later when Grant strolled in through the door. "Hey Harriet," he said with cheer, and Harriet sighed in relief. "Ready to get started?"

Harriet nodded in relief and gave a lame little wave to Jane Fairfax, who smiled.

"Emma told me you needed help. What seems to be the problem?" Grant said, once they had settled at a table. Harriet sighed horribly, unable to look at him.

"I don't know. I think I'm just too stupid. I don't understand anything that's going on. _Nothing_." Her mouth turned down into a pout.

Grant put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't say that. You're not stupid," he said softly. "You just need a confidence boost. We'll sort you out. Well," he amended, and Harriet was finally able to look up into his dancing blue eyes. "If you're willing to spend a lot of time with me these next few days, that is." He gave her a crooked smile, one side of his mouth higher than the other, and Harriet felt suddenly like she had a small bird fluttering in her stomach.

She smiled back slowly, relaxing her tense shoulders, and Grant reached forward to open her book. His arm brushed hers lightly in the process, and Harriet shivered.

"Let's start at the beginning," he began, and Harriet blinked, leaning forward with him to look at the page.


	8. One Very Bad Mistake

You Were the First Mile

By Luna

Chapter 8: One Very Bad Mistake

**AN**: I love reviews?

* * *

When Emma walked through the living room for the third time that evening, Harriet was no longer studying for her math final as Emma had expected to find her. Instead, Harriet's eyes were filmed over in a glaze as she stared at a particularly uninteresting part of the wall with a goofy smile on her face that Emma knew had absolutely nothing to do with math. It was a face that Harriet only made when she was mooning over something. Emma laughed, causing Harriet to snap back to attention.

"What were _you_ thinking about?" Emma teased as she sat down in a chair opposite Harriet. She realized that this was the first time since the charity dinner that Harriet had seemed in good spirits. She couldn't be happier that her friend was finally moving on from Phil. "I know it wasn't numbers," Emma continued.

Harriet smiled bashfully and ran a hand through her hair. Her cheeks were suddenly very rosy. "Well, there's this guy," she began, and Emma sat forward eagerly, about to launch into question after question about this new man, but she checked herself and swallowed back her questions. The last time she had heard that sentence from Harriet's mouth, she had stuck her nose in where she didn't belong, and everything had ended in catastrophe. Emma had learned her lesson. As much as she was dying to, she wasn't going to get involved in Harriet's business again.

Harriet was looking at Emma expectantly, but all Emma would allow herself was an encouraging smile.

Harriet smiled sweetly, a faraway look in her eyes. She clasped her hands together. "I don't know _what_ to say about him; he's unbelievably nice and so smart. He never condescends to me. He's absolutely amazing. I can't believe I ever had any interest in Phil. He's nothing compared to…" She paused suddenly and shot a quick look Emma's way. Harriet furrowed her brow and bit her lip. "I know I should ask you first if it's okay if I try to go for him. I don't know how you feel about him, and I don't want to—"

Emma cut her off, feeling mortified. A deep blush bit her cheeks, and she sputtered, trying to make a coherent statement. She'd somehow trained Harriet to second guess her own decisions and feelings, and it made her feel terrible.

"Please don't ask me that," Emma said in a breathless rush. "I was so wrong to ever try to interfere with you earlier this year. I'm sure that whoever he is, he's a great choice. You know what's best for you." Emma tried to ignore the fact that Harriet was looking stunned and almost baffled. She realized now how unhealthy it was for the younger girl to rely so heavily on her opinions. Emma should have been helping her become independent all along—not spoon feeding her the answers.

Emma was happy that Harriet seemed to be done with Phil, but she didn't want her to rush into another doomed relationship right off the bat. Harriet had a terrible tendency to smother her love interests.

"Just don't jump to conclusions too soon about him. I know I did that with Phil. We misunderstood everything. Men are always giving off mixed, confusing signals, so before you get set on this boy, make sure he really feels the same way. I don't want you wasting yourself on a jerk again. Wait until he makes the first move."

Harriet nodded seriously, taking in Emma's words.

"And please don't even tell me who it is. I don't want to be tempted to try to help. If you tell me his name, I know I won't be able to resist, and I'm really trying to change. You can introduce me when he comes over to take you on your first date."

It was difficult for Emma to keep out of Harriet's situation. Being nosy was in her nature. She was already dying to know who Harriet had a crush on. She had a strong suspicion that he was none other than Rob Martin, Harriet's original crush. Emma thought they would be the perfect match, and a very fitting end to the whole debacle. The amount that she had been against him in the beginning was how much she was for him now. An uncomplicated, centered man would be good for Harriet. Emma itched to plan a date for the two, but with a Herculean effort she managed to resist and went back to her room to allow Harriet the chance to study, or more likely daydream, in peace.

She flopped onto her bed and grabbed her phone from her desk. She had a missed call from Frank, and Emma listened to his voicemail with only mild interest. She was already getting bored with him. He hadn't been able to keep her interest any more than any of the others.

Although he was charming, she never seemed to be able to get past the surface to see the real him. She wasn't sure a real part of him even existed under all that hair product and talk of Jane Fairfax. As far as she could tell, he really was just that shallow.

The message asked if she wanted to go out to lunch on Thursday. It was during her finals week, but not on a day that she had a final, so she knew she was free. Somehow though, she couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that she was forgetting something important.

After a few moments of thought failed to provide the answer, she shrugged, decided it was nothing, and made the arrangements with Frank.

Lunch seemed as good a time as ever to break it off with him.

* * *

On Wednesday evening, Emma was waiting with Grant and Henry for his mother to come pick him up. She hoped he wasn't going to get too anxious. He liked to be one of the first ones picked up and would become more and more distressed the longer he was left at the daycare. However, he was so bundled against the cold that Emma wasn't sure he could actually see anything around him except for fleece. He definitely couldn't say more than a few muffled words.

Grant was doing the talking instead, his calm voice filling the cold air. He'd been acting strangely, giving her short answers and looking downcast and sullen. A frown had marred his usually kind mouth all day. Emma had tried to cheer him up, but had been completely unsuccessful. Grant appeared determined to be dour. Emma didn't know why he was in such a bad mood, but since they'd come outside he seemed to be returning to normal.

"Harriet's a great girl," he said, continuing the conversation they'd been having. "She's been making a lot of progress. I think most of her problems really came from a lack of confidence. She was just hung up on the idea that she wasn't smart enough, but it's not true. She only really needed help with some basic stuff. She's been getting it all since then. I'm sure she's going to do well on her exam."

"And it's all 'cause of you, right?" Emma teased, flashing Grant a smile as Henry's mom pulled into the parking lot. Emma walked him over to the car, waved goodbye, and sauntered back over to Grant. He turned, and they walked inside to the warmth.

"Harriet's been doing all the work and putting in the effort. She basically did it herself. She should be really proud. I don't think I had much to do with it."

Emma smiled at the praise for her friend, which meant a lot coming from Grant. He grabbed his bag to leave.

"I'm going to head out. Don't forget; you're coming in at noon tomorrow for the Christmas party," he said, pulling the bag over his shoulder.

The information failed to register with Emma, and she gave him a blank look.

Grant sighed in exasperation. "The kid's Christmas party is tomorrow. We worked it out weeks ago…"

The information finally slid into place in Emma's brain, and she nodded slowly. "_Right_. I remember now. Except I can't do it. I forgot all about it, and I made other plans." She was having her break up lunch with Frank.

Emma flipped her hair off her shoulder, feeling unconcerned. She was sure that someone else would be able to cover for her. Grant obviously knew more about it than she did. She was sure he would be better for setting up the party anyway. "You can come in for me, right?"

She didn't understand why Grant was suddenly looking so seriously annoyed and almost offended. Her eyebrows raised a little before she could stop herself.

"_No_, I can't, Emma." His voice was very short and harsh, and there was no trace of a smile on his face. "I'm taking my last final tomorrow. I won't be done until three."

"Okay. Relax." Emma laughed slightly, nervously. She was still trying to keep things light. She held up her hands. She didn't know if she had ever seen Grant in so short a temper. She felt the smile slide off her face. "Maybe Mrs. Goddard can—"

"Mrs. Goddard is going to be downtown at a board meeting all morning. She can't set it up either. You said you would get everything ready. I don't understand. Did you even get the punch or _anything_?"

A very terrible feeling was coming over Emma. Her stomach felt like it was full of lead and her heart was thumping painfully fast. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was suddenly dry. She had planned everything out for the childrens' party weeks earlier and then forgotten _everything_ about it. Her list of things to do was lying, forgotten, somewhere in one of her desk drawers in her room.

She was suddenly realizing just to what extent she had messed up, and it made her feel sick. When she didn't respond, Grant's eyes widened in disbelief.

"But you went and picked up the presents from St. Mary's, right?"

Emma shut her eyes briefly. She was completely stunned.

"I forgot." Her voice sounded small and weird in the taught, uncomfortable silence that was looming between them. She didn't know what else to say. She had made a serious mistake, and she could do nothing to make the situation better.

Grant was looking steadfastly to the side. He took a deep breath, and Emma could see a muscle in his jaw working. Then suddenly he was looking at her again, and his normally kind eyes were hard.

"I can't believe you." His voice wasn't harsh, and he wasn't yelling, but Emma almost wished he would. She suddenly had a lump in her throat that was trying hard to make her cry.

"You know we volunteer because the parents can't pay for daycare. Most of them work two jobs as it is. What kind of life do you think these kids have? Nice, comfortable ones where they get everything they want? They didn't grow up like you did, Emma. I know you've heard Mrs. Goddard talking about how half the parents still reek of alcohol from the night before when they drop off their kids. They're not going to have Christmases where they get all the things they asked for. Who even knows if they'll get presents—that's why we had that church do the gift tree in the first place, and that's why we were throwing the party, in case you forgot _that_ too."

He paused, shaking his head. Emma wanted to jump in and defend herself, but her mind was blank and her tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth. And she had no defense because he was right.

Grant's face clearly showed his disappointment in her. He rubbed the skin around his mouth briefly, shaking his head slightly. He frowned, and then he was talking again, as though he couldn't help himself.

"I would have done everything if I'd known I had to. They're going to be devastated, you know. Heather hasn't stopped talking about it this whole week. It's going to kill her. How do you think it'll make her feel to know you forgot about her? She loves you. They've been looking forward to this for a month at least, and I don't have any time to fix it. I can't believe you blew this off for a _date_ with Frank Churchill." He said the last very bitterly, and Emma had to bite down hard to keep herself from crying.

She couldn't look at Grant, and she very slowly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She saw him hovering out of the corner of her eye and heard him sigh again. He ran a hand through his hair roughly. "I just thought this all meant more to you," he said, quietly. "I thought you were better than this."

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and walked out the door, which closed after him with a resounding clank. Emma put her hand over her mouth, her eyes flooding with tears that she could no longer hold back.

* * *

Emma woke with a start and tried to orient herself with her surroundings. She wasn't used to waking up in a plastic chair with her face on a table made for someone three feet tall. Her face was wet and sticky with drool, and she had more than a few bits of Christmas confetti stuck to her cheek. She was rather at odds with her stylish, trend-setter image, but that wasn't important. What _was_ important was how many snowflakes she had to cut out and how much time she still had left to do it.

She blinked. Her contacts were uncomfortable and felt like they were now glued to her eyes. Her watch read 5:30 AM, and she forced herself to wake up. It had been a long night, but she was almost done. She didn't have time to be groggy.

After Grant had walked out she had cried, sobbing really. She'd paced back and forth, alone inside the daycare. She was a pitiful wreck. She was completely disgusted with herself. Every word Grant had said to her had been right, and he was right to have said them.

Emma didn't know how she had managed to mess up so badly. Somehow, she had lost sight of one of the things that meant the very most to her. She knew what the party would mean to the children, and she had forgotten and brushed everything off like it was nothing. She didn't know how she had gotten so wrapped up in herself and her own life, but she'd lost absolutely all respect for herself, and she knew she had to try to fix it. She couldn't live with herself until she had set everything right.

She managed to calm herself down a small bit, focusing on her task, but she still cried most of the way to St. Mary's.

The parish director looked seriously concerned as Emma burst into the church office. She'd run in from her car, afraid that everyone would have already left for the day. Once she realized that she was going to be able to get the childrens' presents she was able to stop crying, but the parish director gave her odd looks the whole time he helped her carry the boxes to her car. Emma was far beyond caring. Getting the presents put her one step closer to righting the situation.

Her next stop was the store, where she practically ran through the aisles, using her 'for emergencies only' credit card to buy gallons of punch, cookies, candy, cake, craft tools, construction paper, glitter, and holiday decorations galore. She even bought a small tree to put the presents under. It took the cashier nearly fifteen minutes to check her out.

Once back at the day care, she put her hair up in a high pony tail and set to work. She was driven by the overwhelming need to redeem herself. She was better than how she had acted, and she would prove it. She couldn't bear the thought that Grant was out there thinking so poorly of her. She couldn't get the image of his face as he'd chided her out of her head.

She cut and pasted and folded. The room was transformed with snowflakes and snowmen and garland and crepe paper along the walls. The punch was staying chilled in the trunk of her car, and the food was on the table, ready to be opened and eaten tomorrow. On a whim, she'd even hung a sprig of mistletoe from the ceiling in front of the cookies. She thought the children would get a blast out of watching their fellow peers having to kiss each other if they accidentally went under it together.

Every child had one present from the people at the church under the tree. She was sure they would all be quite excited about that, but she wanted to do more. These children deserved the absolute best, and she was trying her hardest to give it to them.

She'd fallen asleep making cards for all the children, but she only had a few left, and once she finished them she planned to go home and fall, unconscious, into her bed. She had done as much as she could, and she didn't think they'd be able to notice how much she had thrown together at the very last moment. Originally, she had planned to study for her final exam, but she'd had to set everything right and simply didn't have time to do both. Her schooling could wait; she had other priorities at the moment.

She finished her final card with a sigh. She was exhausted. After a drive home that she barely remembered when she awoke, Emma collapsed into bed in her clothes, ready to sleep the sleep of the redeemed.


	9. Beginnings and Endings

**You Were the First Mile**

By Luna

Chapter 9: Beginnings and Endings

* * *

Emma was still tired when her alarm went off at eleven that morning, but she was too jittery to sleep again. She felt keyed up and nervous. Her only hope was that Grant would no longer be angry and disappointed in her. His face, with its sad eyes and frown, would not leave her mind. The picture continued to haunt her. Her own face looked tired and vulnerable in the mirror as she brushed her long hair.

She picked up her cell phone and canceled her lunch with Frank. As she'd anticipated, he didn't ask any questions about why she was suddenly backing out on lunch. Now that he had cost her so much, Emma wondered why she'd ever bothered with Frank in the first place.

Her hair crackled with static electricity as she pulled on her cheeriest green and red sweater. She dug through her jewelry box for a few minutes. She had the perfect pair of earrings for the day; they were in the shape of Christmas bulbs, and she could only wear them a few days out of the year. She didn't want to miss her opportunity.

With a curious sense of déjà vu, Emma headed back to the day care. She didn't think she'd ever spent so many consecutive hours in one location except for her house.

She retrieved the punch from her car and cautiously stepped through the doors to the daycare. She didn't know what to expect. She was met with a wave of tiny voices shouting 'Merry Christmas!', and Emma felt a little of the guilty weight drop from her. The children were ecstatic. Their wide smiles and bright eyes were worth the loss of sleep any day. There wasn't a complaint in the whole room. She laughed happily for what felt like the first time in years.

It took Emma some time to disengage herself from all the children. Every one wanted to show off their new present to her, as Mrs. Goddard had allowed the children to open their gift early that morning, or thank her for the card she had made them.

"Look! _Look_! This Barbie is a princess, Miss Emma. That's why she has the dress and the crown. Her hair is long, just like yours and it grows to be really, _really_ long and then you get to cut it off with these scissors. I saw it on television. I didn't know I was ever going to get to play with her. Mommy said I couldn't have her. And she comes with more hair so you can make it grow again and again. I'll have to keep this away from my kitty. She ate one of the eyes off my teddy bear, and I was so mad. Mommy told me that's what I get for leaving my bear on the floor, but I didn't know the kitty was going to do _that_. But I won't let her near Barbie. And she comes with her own special princess hairbrush too!"

Emma had never seen Heather so excited. She was speaking even more quickly and breathlessly than normal. It was hard to understand what exactly she was saying, but the soft look in her eyes as she cradled her new doll said everything that needed to be said. Heather even fell speechless for a few minutes as she began to brush the doll's long hair, and Emma caressed the young girl's head lightly and took the opportunity to walk away.

She began to pass out the punch and the cookies. Unfortunately, she became the first victim to her own scheme as she stepped under the mistletoe with Henry. She'd come over to point out the special gluten free cookies she had purchased for him. Many of the children pointed and cried '_oooh_'.

The girls all giggled as she bent down and gave Henry a kiss on the forehead, which he promptly rubbed off, muttering 'germs'. Emma couldn't help laughing as, from then on, many of the young boys tried to get her to get cookies with them, hoping for a kiss from her. From age 6 to 26, they were all the same.

With the children all busy and happy with their cookies, punch, and new presents, the afternoon seemed to drag. She'd relaxed initially after arriving and seeing that everything was going well and the children were happy. The sense of calm left her as the minutes slowly ticked by.

She couldn't wait for three o'clock to roll around and for Grant to finish his exam and come to work. She couldn't help looking at the clock in intervals of ten minutes. The time had never seemed to move so slowly before.

At one point, she questioned whether the clock in the daycare was actually broken, but a glance at her cell phone told her that it wasn't. In fact, the daycare clock was fast! Emma groaned to herself, willing the minute hand to inch forward faster. She was both anxious for Grant to arrive and dreading the thought of seeing him. What if he was still upset? She didn't think she could take it.

When Grant walked in the front doors at 1:45, Emma was shocked. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably in surprise and nervousness.

He looked completely unprepared for what he saw. His mouth was gaping open, and she saw him blink, as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Everyone yelled 'Merry Christmas' again, and several children rushed over to hug his knees. After patting them on the head, he looked around in a daze until his eyes settled on her.

She'd been munching on a cookie, but she put her small plate down and rushed over, wiping the cookie crumbs from her fingers. She was flustered and said the first thing that came to her mind, which was a far cry from the apology she had rehearsed in her head while waiting for his arrival.

"Knightley. You're not supposed to be here yet." Emma almost cringed at her lack of tact, however Grant didn't seem to notice.

"I finished my final early." He was still looking around in complete shock. His face was rosy from walking in from the cold, and he looked windblown. He shoved his gloves into his pockets. His expression was thoughtful as he looked at her. He smiled slightly. "Look at this place. Did you do all this?"

Emma was very aware of the little ears all over the room listening to their conversation. She didn't say anything, but pointed outside and followed him through the doors after he turned to walk out. The air was frigid, and she hadn't thought to grab her coat, but she didn't care. She couldn't concentrate on something like the temperature. She had to clear things up. Grant began talking before she could however.

He scuffed the ground with the toe of his shoe and then sighed. "I feel terrible about yesterday. I've been thinking about it all night. I shouldn't have talked to you like that. It's none of my business about…I was just—"

"I'm sorry, Grant." She saw his eyebrows raise in wonder and the silly smile he couldn't suppress at the sound of his first name from her lips, but she couldn't stop to say anything about it. She had to keep going. She was afraid if she stopped talking that she would start crying again, and she didn't want to blubber any more in a period of 24 hours than she absolutely had to.

"I deserved every word of what you said. Worse probably. I was stupid and selfish, and I spent all of last night getting this ready and gluing snowflakes. The people at the church and the convenience store probably think I'm insane. I woke up this morning with confetti all over my face."

She bit down on her lip. She didn't know why she was saying all these things. Instead of the beautiful apology she'd planned, out came incoherent babble. Grant just kept looking at her, and so Emma continued rambling. She needed him to say something. She couldn't take it. "Please just say you're not mad anymore. Please."

The wind blew her hair in front of her face, and she impatiently shook it off. She was starting to shiver in the cold but she couldn't look away from him. She suddenly felt like all of her happiness depended upon his answer.

Grant's eyes were wide. "Jesus, Emma. I wasn't…I'm not mad," he finally said, and Emma felt a huge weight drop off of her. She impulsively vaulted forward to hug him, throwing her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He had to take a step back with the impact, and it took him a moment before he hugged her back. She inhaled deeply with relief. His arms were warm around her, and they stayed that way for a few minutes before Emma drew back, still in the circle of his arms.

"Friends again?" she asked cheerfully.

Grant's eyes were on her mouth, but after a moment he blinked, looking her in the eyes again. "Yeah," he said, after a slight pause.

Emma smiled, relieved. "Thank goodness. I don't think I could take another night like that. Let's go inside," she said, laughing and shivering. "It's really cold, and I bet they've all killed each other by now."

The children were all alive and well. Most were too busy with their candy and their cards to bother anyone else. Emma felt calm again for the first time in an entire day.

She walked over to the refreshment table, cleaning up empty cups and crumpled napkins as she went. There were little messes everywhere, but especially around the cookies.

Grant walked over from hanging up his coat. "Everything looks great. I still can't believe you managed all this by yourself, Emma. You should have called me. I would have come to help."

Emma shook her head. "I knew you were busy studying, and I didn't feel like I deserved your help. It was my mistake, and so I had to fix it. It wasn't so bad. I had a lot of manic energy in my favor."

Grant laughed, stepping forward to take one of the cookies from the tray. "You even got the good cookies," he said, taking a bite of one.

She smiled brightly, pleased, and turned to look at the cookie tray. "I know. I got gluten free ones for Henry as well. I picked the other ones with frosting out on purpose because I always loved them when I was little. Still do, as a matter of fact."

She took a fateful step forward and reached for a cookie. Ten little voices around the room all yelled 'ooooh!'.

Emma closed her eyes for a brief moment and then opened them, looking up. She sighed heavily. She'd really stepped into it this time; she'd managed to stand directly under the damn mistletoe for the second time, and this time it wasn't Henry she was obligated to kiss.

Grant furrowed his brow and looked around at the children in complete confusion. After a moment he finally followed her gaze upward, and understanding dawned on his face. He snorted lightly. "Is that…"

"Mistletoe," Emma confirmed, her tone dry. She could have kicked herself. In her sleep deprived state she obviously hadn't thought all the way through hanging it up. She'd thought only the children would be effected, not _her_.

Except for a glint in his eyes that showed amusement, Grant's expression was neutral, and he was looking at her for what to do. She wasn't sure what to do either, but she knew that the children would never let them get away without kissing.

The longer she delayed, the rowdier they were getting already. Emma lifted one shoulder slowly and shrugged. Her stomach was wriggling, but she decided to be a good sport. It was only Grant, after all.

He put his plate down on the table, and they both stepped forward. She wouldn't allow herself to think anything, trying to keep her mind blank. Emma found herself acting on autopilot; her body responded without any conscious effort. She tilted her face up, and Grant leaned in. She closed her eyes at the last moment.

The kiss was brief, chaste, and only lasted a few seconds before they broke apart. The children all cheered.

Emma grabbed a traitorous cookie and flipped her hair off her shoulder, feeling extremely flustered. She suddenly couldn't look at Grant, and so she excused herself to pick up more of the empty plates and cups on the other side of the room.

His presence that close to her was too overwhelming and she hadn't been able to look at him, but she _could_ look at him from far away, especially when he wasn't paying any attention to her. She watched him talking to Heather. She imagined the little girl was probably telling him all about her new doll as well.

Emma thought it was odd how she'd never paid much attention to Grant's height before. She tilted her head now, sizing him up. It was perfect, really, because he was several inches taller than her, but not tall enough to make it awkward to kiss him. He wasn't too short either, like Frank, whose stature had always annoyed her.

Not that she ever planned to kiss Grant again; he just happened to be a good height for her.

And she'd always thought he had awfully nice shoulders…

She took another bite of her cookie, unconsciously running her fingers across her mouth. It was funny how she could still feel what the kiss had been like. How strange that kissing Grant had felt like _that_.

Not that it mattered.

It was just curious.

Although none of that explained why her heart was still beating so quickly. It'd started beating frantically as soon as he'd leaned in, and it was still going strong.

Emma looked down quickly as she saw his head start to turn in her direction and busied herself with one of the children. She realized, suddenly, what kind of look she'd been giving Grant, and she blushed. She sincerely hoped he hadn't caught her staring at him.

Emma sighed in relief as he left the room and went in the direction of Mrs. Goddard's office. Emma decided she just needed some sleep. She hadn't gotten enough the night before, and now it was doing strange things to her. What nonsense she'd just been thinking. Grant was still just Grant, after all, whatever strange thoughts in her head were telling her differently.

By the time they started cleaning up for the end of the day, Emma was too tired for any thinking whatsoever. She gathered cups like a zombie, and she barely had enough energy to help the children put on their coats and boots.

She couldn't wait to go home and sleep. She was certain that she would pass out as soon as she snuggled under the covers. After all the children had been sent home for the day, Emma decided she couldn't do any more. The tree was still set up, the cookies were still on the table, and she'd forgotten to get the mistletoe, but she was just too tired. She'd have to stand on a chair to get the mistletoe, and she didn't have anywhere else to take the tree. She decided to leave them for tomorrow. No harm would come by them staying there.

She slid on her coat and was reaching for her scarf when Grant walked over. She was too exhausted to even feel bashful about the earlier events. She thought he looked nervous as he walked to stand in front of her. His eyes were fixed on her coat collar, not her face, as he began speaking.

"I've just talked with Mrs. Goddard, and I'm not going to volunteer here next semester. There are always freshman who'll sign up like we did, so I know she won't have any trouble finding a replacement. I just wanted to let you know." Suddenly he was looking at her again, and his eyes looked sad.

Emma stood gaping at him. Whatever she had expected him to say, _this_ was not it. Her tired brain could barely wrap itself around the concept. Working at the daycare without him? It was inconceivable. And if she didn't see him at the daycare, she was never going to see him. They never had classes together, and she had never passed him walking on campus. Without the daycare, they didn't exist to each other.

Emma swallowed. "_What_?" was all the reply she could manage. She had the sudden and inexplicable urge to cry.

The corners of Grant's mouth turned up briefly. "I know. It's just—"

"You're not still mad at me, are you? You're not doing this because of me…" Emma felt sick as she said it. Her stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. She thought she'd made up for her behavior.

Grant shook his head. "_No_, no it's not because of you. Of course not. I just can't fit it into my schedule next semester." His tone was light, and Emma could tell immediately that he was lying. Unlike her, Grant didn't have much practice at being dishonest, and she could see right through him. He was leaving because of her, and she knew it. He could have worked out any conflicts in his schedule. He just didn't want to be around her any more.

She felt horrible, but there was nothing she could say. Once Grant made up his mind, he always followed through. He didn't make stupid and impulsive decisions like she did. If he said he was leaving, then he was as good as gone already, and there was nothing she could do about it. Emma stared stupidly at him, gone dumb.

He gave her a brief smile, but it quickly slipped off his face. After a moment in which they simply stared at each other, he hurriedly turned away from her to grab his coat. "You don't have to look so shocked; I'll still see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, but…" Emma trailed off. How could she explain what she felt? Nothing would ever be the same. She felt like she had so many important things to say, but they were stuck in a useless jumble in her head. She needed to find a way to make him stay, but her shoulders sagged as she came up blank; her tired mind was empty.

"It'll be fine, really. You'll get to boss the poor new guy around. He won't know what hit him." Grant gave her an encouraging smile. "Remember my first day?"

Emma _did_ remember, vividly.

She'd been at the daycare for a week and a half already, and Mrs. Goddard had let her supervise the children on her own for the last hour of the day. Mrs. Goddard had introduced her to Grant, saying how wonderful Emma was with the children. She'd beamed in the praise, tuning out everything else, and as a result had only managed to catch what Grant's last name was.

She'd hoped that Mrs. Goddard might mention it again, but had no such luck. Emma had too much pride to admit that she hadn't been listening during the introduction to ask him for his name again. Faced with the prospect of calling him either Knightley or 'hey you' for the rest of the day, Emma decided that she would just avoid conversation.

Emma's plan was going well until Mrs. Goddard had to leave for a meeting, reasoning that the two volunteers would be able to handle the daycare for half an hour without her.

Of course, five minutes after Mrs. Goddard left, half the daycare was in shambles. Emma had surreptitiously watched Grant from the other side of the room. She'd never seen him before around campus, and she was curious about him. She hadn't been able to make up her mind about whether he was worth talking to.

The children had already had their snacks, and there wasn't much more to do until it was time to go. He was busy looking at the children's artwork that lined the walls.

Emma had heard the 'eww', first, and then a rising wail that only grew as more than one child joined in. She'd whipped her head around and gasped, surprised at the shock of bright red blood all over one child's face and shirt. Mrs. Goddard had warned her that he was prone to nosebleeds, but she'd never witnessed it before.

She'd muttered a curse under her breath and rushed over, trying not to panic. Her thoughts had run in a panicked stream, but she'd had enough sense to realize that she needed paper towels _immediately_. Fortunately, Grant was standing right next to the storage closet; unfortunately, she'd been unable to remember his first name.

"Knightley!" she'd yelled across the room, figuring the situation was desperate enough. His head had whipped around, and his eyes had widened considerably at the sight of all the blood. "Grab some paper towels. _Hurry_," she'd urged, and after he'd turned, confused, first to the right and then to the left, she'd remembered that he was new and had no idea where they were stored.

"They're in the closet right there to the left. Go!"

He'd rushed them over to her a moment later, and then Emma had stood holding them, not knowing what to do next. Obtaining the paper towels had been as far as her plan went. "Uhh," she'd muttered, inarticulately, and Grant had seemed to get the message that she knew nothing about nosebleeds.

He'd taken the paper towels from her then, crouching down to soothe the child. Grant expertly tilted the child's head forward slightly, teaching him to pinch the bridge of his nose to cut off the blood flow.

Emma had raised her eyebrows, secretly impressed as he radiated intelligence and compassion.

"Who would want a calm first day, anyway," he'd said dryly a few minutes later, looking over her way and sitting back on his heels. "It's obviously not a good start until there's blood involved."

Emma had laughed at the sarcasm.

"I'm sure it was all just a test from Mrs. Goddard. She's probably watching us on hidden cameras in her office, laughing," she'd replied.

"I wouldn't be surprised," he'd said, laughing. "Though I think we've got everything under control now, right buddy?" he'd said to the boy, smiling encouragingly. Then he'd met her eyes, still smiling, and Emma hadn't been able to help smiling back.

And now, here he was in front of her, three years later, that same soft smile playing across his lips. She was sure he was remembering the same thing. After searching his face for a few seconds, Emma finally managed to give him a small smile back in response, although something inside her suddenly felt dead. How was she ever going to get along without him?


	10. Brownies with a Hint of Epiphany

You Were the First Mile

By Luna

Chapter 10: Chocolate Fudge Brownies with a Hint of Epiphany

* * *

Emma fiddled uncertainly with the coaster, spinning it over and over between her fingers nervously. She still didn't know what to say to Frank, who was sitting across from her at the same bar where they had met. She was exhausted from her stressful day, from the Christmas party, from Grant's surprising news—especially from Grant's news.

Frank had invited her out for a drink that evening in place of their lunch. Emma had wanted to say no, but the urge to finish things with him was too strong. It was time to end whatever relationship they had had together.

She hadn't had the time to plan a graceful letdown speech for him. Instead they were sitting across from each other, uncomfortably silent. The witty banter that usually flew between them was absent. Emma sighed. She wanted to be delicate with his feelings. He was nice, after all. He deserved nice treatment in return. She'd known from the start that he wasn't right for her. She thought it was obvious that nothing serious was holding them together. It didn't make any sense to wait for things to get complicated. She just didn't know how to tell _him_ that.

She glanced at Frank, but he was staring stonily into the bottom of his glass of water. She couldn't help wondering what he was thinking about. Frank took a deep breath and met her eyes, and suddenly he was talking seriously.

"I don't know how to say what I've got to say, so I'm just going to get it all out there." He pursed his lips for a moment before continuing. "I've had a lot of fun with you, and you're really, _really_ great, but I can't see you anymore."

Emma looked at him speechlessly. Her mouth actually gaped opened because she couldn't believe Frank. In all her years of casual dating, this had never happened to her before.

He'd beaten her to it!

Frank was anxiously watching her reaction, and he took her silence as a bad sign. He sighed and bowed his head. "I know this probably seems abrupt, and I feel like a real jerk." His mouth pulled down into a frown. "I'll understand completely if you're upset with me, and if you don't want to talk to me anymore."

Emma shook her head, finally regaining her powers of speech. She was suddenly fighting off the urge to laugh. What an inappropriate time to get the giggles, but she couldn't help it. Happiness was coursing through her. "Frank, no, I'm not upset. In fact, I was just about to say the exact same thing to you, but I didn't know how to word it. Well done, by the way."

It was Frank's turn to look surprised. She watched as the penitent expression on his face morphed into disbelief and then finally to happiness. He grinned slowly, still blinking in surprise. Emma was finally able to stop spinning the coaster. They both took a moment to reflect on their luck. It was the least sticky end Emma had ever experienced.

Emma allowed some of the laughter she'd been suppressing to bubble to the surface, and Frank joined in. She couldn't say why, exactly, they were laughing, but it felt right. The laughter dispelled the uncomfortable air surrounding them.

Frank shook his head slightly, running a hand down the side of his face. He couldn't seem to help himself from explaining the situation further. "I realized that I had to work things out with Jane, and it's not fair to drag you in to that. I still have significant feelings for her. She's good for me, and I think I can be good for her."

Emma couldn't be mad. The feelings just weren't there. After all, she had been about to break up with him, and _she_ didn't even have a good reason. Frank had been nice, but she just didn't care for him. She couldn't seem to care about the reason he had ended it, either.

Frank was still looking very relieved and astounded. Every so often his mouth would drop open, and he would shake his head. He had obviously been expecting for things to turn ugly between the two of them. "I can't believe how things worked out," he said, looking into her eyes. "I don't think most girls are like you, Emma. Really, you should be at least a little mad at me."

Emma laughed at that. "I can pretend and make a scene if you'd like. Throw my drink in your face…"

Frank shook his head no, and Emma smiled. She thought for a moment and then shrugged. "I can't pretend that what we had meant something. We both know it didn't." She gave him a small side smile. "I can't fake something I don't feel. For whatever reason, I was safe from you, and you were safe from me. Since you obviously still have feelings for Jane, I'm not surprised you didn't feel anything for me." Emma still didn't know what had kept her from feeling anything for Frank, but she shrugged. "We're just lucky it all worked out this way."

Frank nodded seriously. "And I think this calls for a round of drinks." He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye. "Well, maybe just Pepsi this time."

Emma laughed. He was obviously remembering the last occasion he had purchased rounds of drinks for them. That particular night had ended very differently for the two of them. Still, she liked that they had come full circle. She took a deep breath and looked around the bar. People were reflecting the cool color scheme of the neon beer signs, and their glasses twinkled in the reddish, dim light. She had half expected a messy break up scene as well and couldn't help rejoicing in her luck.

She'd left the end of a relationship unscathed yet again and was left sitting with a feeling of total calm and peace. She wished that people who weren't right for each other could always rationally admit it like her and Frank. What a waste of energy it was to pretend anything other than the truth. She hoped to always be so clear sighted.

If only she had been able to do the same for Harriet and Phil. She sighed in dejection, but then remembered that Harriet was interested in Rob again. She hadn't ruined everything permanently. It had only taken a little while for everything to return to normal. Although it was hard to believe it during the moment, time really healed all things.

She sighed and smiled, clunking her glass with Frank in a final salute. Emma knew that, despite everything, things were going to be okay.

* * *

Harriet laughed as Emma sloppily poured the brownie batter into the pan. Emma and Harriet had finished their last final exams early that morning. The dreaded math final was over, and Harriet was leaving in a few minutes to go see how she'd done. The professor was posting the grades outside his door that afternoon. Emma set the pan in the oven, and the girls set to work on the bowl, using their fingers to get the leftovers. They both deserved a well earned reward for their hard work.

Baking had always been a cathartic activity for Emma. She baked when she felt stressed. Unlike Harriet, she wasn't worried about her final. The fact that it was Grant's last day at the daycare was bothering her instead.

She'd returned home early from her meeting with Frank and almost immediately crashed in her bed. Unfortunately, the memory of her last words with Grant all came crashing back to her as soon as she awoke in the morning. The gnawing feeling that everything was her fault wouldn't leave her.

She managed to suppress it long enough to finish her final, but it was back full force and had resulted in batch after batch of brownies.

The whole apartment smelled wonderful, and Emma had managed to make herself feel slightly better. She ran her finger around the bowl, catching the leftover goop. It tasted delicious.

"I heard students whispering about you while I was in the math office today," Harriet said, licking her own fingers. She had a smudge of the brownie batter on the corner of her mouth, and she smiled. "Something about you and Frank Churchill? Nobody would tell me anything though, and they kept looking at Jane Fairfax." She looked at Emma with wide, expectant eyes.

Emma rolled her eyes at the lack of tact her peers often displayed. She reached over and wiped the smudge off Harriet's face. "How did Jane react?"

Harriet shrugged. "She was in her own little world really. I don't think she heard anyone talking, or maybe she just pretended she didn't. I don't know. She _was_ smiling more than normal, but what's going on? Are you dating him?"

Emma licked the batter off her finger and shook her head. "Definitely not. We were having a bit of a fling, but he's going back to Jane Fairfax, who he was originally dating. They were taking a break when we met." She paused, contemplating her cabinets. She opened several, searching. "Do you have any chocolate chips? I feel like making cookies too."

Harriet looked dumbfounded and ignored the last part of Emma's sentence. "You're not upset? Didn't that hurt you?" she sputtered. Her brow was furrowed in confusion.

Emma didn't know how to explain to Harriet the fact that she cared nothing for Frank. Harriet was nothing but a moving ball of feelings. When she was up she was soaring, and when she was down there was nothing to bring her out of her deep depression.

Things didn't affect Emma to the same degree, and she had long since realized that the ways in which she behaved would never work for Harriet, who felt everything to the deepest degree. This was just another example.

Emma shrugged and smiled. "No, I never had any feelings for him, so he couldn't hurt me. You have to care for something to be able to hurt you. Frank and I seemed to be on the same page about everything, which was useful when it came time to end things. We ended on perfectly good terms. I just hope that he's doing the right thing by going back to Jane." Emma wasn't sure that two such different personalities were ever going to be able to sustain their relationship.

Harriet shook her head in confusion, reaching for the batter bowl. "You're crazy," she muttered, and Emma laughed.

"I just don't see the point in getting worked up over things that don't matter. Now, if it were someone I'd really cared about…then I'd make a scene; people would probably be cowering in fear. But Frank was just for fun." She thought for a moment. "I just hope that people aren't distorting the ending. I wish you'd heard more of what people were saying."

She knew that the truth that started many of the rumors sometimes became so skewed that it no longer came close to resembling the actual series of events. She already had the feeling that it was happening to her story.

She decided to change the subject. Rumors about herself could never hold her attention for long. "So, any news about a certain boy?" Emma asked. She and Harriet had had several recent conversations about Harriet's crush, and Emma was beyond certain that it was Rob Martin. Although Harriet had wanted to tell her, Emma refused to hear his name. She was afraid that the temptation to meddle would still be too strong, and she didn't want to be responsible for causing anyone else pain again.

Harriet broke out into a dimpled smile. The thought of whomever it was never failed to bring a wide smile to her face. She looked up at Emma hopefully. "I think something will happen soon," she said, all of a flutter. "I really do. We were having the best conversation today. He's so funny; I laughed for almost a half an hour. I think maybe at our next tutoring session—"

Harriet was still talking, but Emma had long since stopped hearing the words. It was like someone had run in and rearranged her whole world, and she was still reeling from it. She didn't like the way the new world felt, and she wanted to go back to the old one because Harriet was _not_ talking about Rob, and Emma finally knew it.

And for the first time, Emma was beginning to see something _else_ very clearly too.

Harriet was still eating the remnants of the brownie batter, unaware that anything major had occurred to alter her friend.

"You've been talking about Knightley this whole time? You have feelings for _him_?" Emma sputtered, her hands gripping the countertop for support. She was breathing fast in shock.

Harriet nodded sheepishly. "I never even would have met him or given him a second thought if you hadn't introduced us. He's perfect. He's amazing, and lately, I don't know. I'm just starting to think that he really likes me."

"_Why_?" Emma asked, and her voice was much too loud for polite inquiry.

Harriet finally seemed to notice that something was not quite right. She gave Emma a startled look, and her voice became more defensive. "When he switched seats with Phil, I started to notice him. I was so embarrassed and humiliated, but he talked to me the whole night and really calmed me down. I've never had such fun talking to a guy. I did what you said; I waited, and I didn't assume anything, but at tutoring all we do now is talk, and I can feel something in our relationship changing. I think it's obvious how he feels for me when we're alone. He's so nice."

Emma was frantically reviewing the events for herself, flashes of evenings running through her mind. She had always been too focused on herself to notice Harriet. Emma could not believe that she'd been so blind to everything, so wrong, but she also couldn't get rid of the sinking feeling in her stomach.

Grant had helped save Harriet from public humiliation. He'd handled it so gracefully that Emma wasn't surprised Harriet had fallen for him, but did that mean that he reciprocated? He had told Emma on numerous occasions how great he thought Harriet was. She knew he was really pleased with her progress during tutoring sessions. She had never asked him anything about Harriet; he had always freely volunteered the information. Was Harriet right in thinking that it all meant something? Emma's heart felt like it was resting very painfully near her throat.

"I always meant to ask you about how you felt about him, and if it was okay for me to like him. You never talk about him so I wasn't sure. I know how close of friends you are. I didn't know if—"

"_No._ Knightley is completely wrong for you," Emma croaked. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to speak with less venom and more quiet understanding. She took a deep, calming breath, but the condescension wouldn't leave her voice. "I know you think that all of these things mean something, but I'm sure he's just being nice. He acts that way with everyone. You don't even really know him. I'm _sure;_ he's not interested. "

Harriet was looking highly offended. Two bright splotches of pink stood out on her cheeks. She stood up from where she had been sitting and narrowed her eyes.

"Why should I listen to you? I did before and that only brought me humiliation. You don't know anything—not even your own feelings. You should figure yourself out before you try to give me advice. If it turns out that he doesn't like me, fine, then I was wrong. But I'm not going to know until I try." She turned to grab her coat and her keys. "I'm going to see how I did on my final." She slipped her coat on angrily, and her voice was cold as she left Emma staring stupidly at the oven dials, too shocked to move or speak. She didn't jump when the front door slammed shut. The enormity of what she had been unaware of was becoming apparent.

It was suddenly very clear to Emma that the reason she didn't want Harriet to date Grant was the same reason that it had been unacceptable and unthinkable for Jane Fairfax and Marianne or any girl, for that matter. It was also the reason why she had never felt anything for Frank or any of her countless other conquests. It was the reason that a day later, the remembrance of a chaste, three second kiss still made her pulse speed up.

Emma wanted Grant. She loved him. Grant couldn't be with anyone else—only her. It was inconceivable that he would want to be with anyone but her. In that moment, alone in her kitchen, Emma was certain beyond a doubt that Grant loved her back. It was so painfully obvious. He didn't care for Harriet any more than anyone else he was helping. Heather, Henry, Harriet, it didn't make any difference. He was generous and kind to everyone, but Emma knew there was more to it than that with her.

He had real feelings for her. She had felt it months ago that night in the kitchen, only she hadn't yet realized what exactly it was she was feeling. She turned her head slowly to look at the tiles where they had stood so closely. She finally understood why Grant had run out so suddenly.

It had been there the night of the gala when they'd danced. He hadn't held her and danced with her like a friend, but like a lover. She could name a million other little moments just like it that she had experienced with Grant. It was so obvious. Everything was right there when they'd kissed.

She was kicking herself for ever thinking that the feelings that tied her to Grant were simply ones of friendship. Why had they waited so long to be together?

She knew it was all her fault. She'd been scared of what she felt.

After proclaiming for years that she was untouchable and unattainable, she couldn't admit that someone had managed to touch her. Emma hadn't been ready to open herself up to the possibility of getting hurt. She'd wasted her time instead on men that meant absolutely nothing because they were safer, and now she had to face the fact that she might lose him to Harriet.

Emma looked at the clock. She still had half an hour before she was supposed to be at the daycare, but she didn't care. She was going in early.

It was his last day volunteering, and she had to let Grant know how she felt. After so much fumbled, wasted time, she couldn't wait a moment longer.


	11. Where My Heart Broke a Sweat

**You Were the First Mile**

By Luna

Chapter 11: Where My Heart Broke a Sweat

* * *

Once Emma arrived at work, she choked. Whatever certainty she had felt in her kitchen was gone. She'd broken basically every traffic law on the drive over. She was in love and invincible; she could afford to be reckless. However, after she turned into the parking lot, she couldn't seem to get out of the car.

The interior of the car was completely silent as she turned off the ignition. Tiny snowflakes drifted down from a grey sky, and Emma watched them turn into water droplets on her windshield, her stomach churning with a growing sense of anxiety. Her palms were sweating against the steering wheel. She wiped them against her jeans, shaking her head. It had to be love; no man had ever made her palms sweat before. Emma took a deep breath. She was so nervous. She simultaneously wanted to run inside to Grant and stay in the safety of the car forever.

One urge won out. She waltzed into the daycare on a wave of sheer bravado, aglow with hope and love. Her eyes found Grant instantly, leaning against the back wall, quietly supervising the children's free time. Her pulse beat frantically; his eyes met hers from across the room, and…

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Emma instantly deflated and hung up her coat. Grant had nodded his head in acknowledgment of her presence, but that was it. He hadn't come over to say hello. He hadn't even cracked a smile for her, only that small nod.

She smoothed out her shirt, feeling extremely foolish. Before she'd left for the daycare, she'd changed into a shirt that she rarely wore. The shirt wasn't anything special, just a cream colored long sleeved shirt with a pattern of tiny blue flowers on it that she'd pulled it out of a bargain bin years earlier. It was soft with age, and the cuffs were starting to fray, but Grant had complimented it weeks earlier, saying it was his favorite, so Emma had dug it out of her dresser to wear. Grant hadn't taken any more notice of her than usual.

He was still leaning against the wall, shoulders pressed back, arms crossed lightly across his chest, the sleeves of his black sweater pushed up to the elbows. He hadn't even come over to ask her why she was at the daycare early.

Emma couldn't get the thought out of her head that he was probably thinking about Harriet and her pretty blue eyes and adorable smile.

Emma felt like a weird giant in comparison.

Grant probably liked short girls with dark hair.

Emma was sure he only saw her as a friend.

Grant probably didn't even think she was pretty.

He was made of _rocks_.

And he probably thought she was, too.

Emma came to the swift and painful conclusion that she had made everything up about him returning her love, running away with her feelings. He didn't care for _her_ any more than he did for Heather or Henry, she was certain. Harriet had been right about everything.

She couldn't even manage a smile for the children. She was too busy mentally scolding herself. Grant had been in front of her the whole time, and she'd overlooked him. She'd lost her chance, and she had no one to blame but herself.

Grant was all the things that she wasn't. He was patient and understanding. She knew he didn't block out Heather's ramblings like she did. He listened to every damn word. He was smart and rational. He thought before he spoke. He was kind and generous. He brought out the best in everyone, especially her.

And she knew that she brought out good things in him too. Naturally reticent, he was prone to over-analyzing things, and Emma kept him from spending too much time in his own head. He laughed more with her than other people; Emma knew it. Harriet wasn't the girl for him, and the thought of them together made her feel like vomiting.

She realized she was neglecting the children, and she realized that she was staring intently at Grant from across the room, but she didn't care. The first times he'd caught her looking he gave her a smile, but she couldn't ever manage much more than an unsteady facial wobble. He was looking over more frequently and with more concern now, giving her a strange, worried look.

Emma sighed, biting her lip as he looked away again. Her nerves were frazzled. If this was what it felt like to actually feel something for someone, she was glad to have managed to avoid it for so much of her life. It was horrible and wonderful. She was sweating copiously.

Emma finally got a break when snack time allowed her to go to the back room to retrieve the beverages from the refrigerator. Grant stayed in the front room to round up the children. Emma basked in the cold air, holding a milk carton to the back of her neck. She knew she had to relax. She was too keyed up.

She plastered on a fake smile and walked around dispersing the drinks.

Henry tugged lightly on the hem of her shirt as she got to him. She knelt down, and he looked at her very seriously, his large brown eyes magnified by the lens of his glasses.

"Is it really true?" he asked quietly.

Emma smiled crookedly. "Is what really true, Henry?"

"That today is Grant's last day. He said he was going away for a while. Is he really?"

The smile slid off her face, and Emma had to look down. She couldn't look into Henry's imploring face. Her stomach had given a harsh twinge as soon as she'd realized what he was asking. She suddenly felt like crying.

She spoke quietly so her voice wouldn't wobble. "It's true, kiddo."

"But he'll be back soon, right?"

Emma chewed at her lip. She didn't want to lie to the child, but she didn't know what to say. She cleared her throat slightly and moved to stand. With her jerky, uncoordinated movements she accidentally knocked over his carton of orange juice. The sticky liquid immediately spread all across the table.

"Shit," Emma murmured. She flinched when she remembered that she was surrounded by impressionable children. Grant was staring at her now, but she purposely ignored him and ran to grab a roll of paper towels, trying to clean up her mess. It was difficult; her hands were suddenly shaking. Rambling off a string of curse words in her head, she dumped her sodden paper towels in the trash.

She wished she could just go home. It was a terrible day. She'd spent half the day staring at Grant and the other half trying to distract herself so she wouldn't stare. She wasn't doing the children any good. She was too distracted to care about helping them. She knew it was just another example of why Grant was such a good man. He was never too anything to help the children.

She sincerely hoped that Harriet would appreciate that fact more than she had. She hoped Harriet would appreciate everything more than she had.

That thought _really_ made her feel like crying. A tear actually managed to sneak down her cheek before Emma abandoned the children, deciding that it was a good time to go hide in the coat room.

She leaned against the wall, trying to take deep breaths. The coat room was musty and dim, full to the bursting with coats, scarves, and tiny boots. She closed her eyes, resting against the soft down coats. She felt slightly better in the dim light and the quiet until Grant stepped in.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice. He was right in front of her, his head tilted to the side and his brow furrowed. His voice was quiet and low, and he was too close to her. Emma couldn't help watching his mouth. It was right in her line of vision. Right now his mouth was serious, the corners drawn in, but she knew normally it showed humor and kindness.

God, Emma wanted to kiss him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him until she couldn't breathe. It was an actual, physical urge, and she had to restrain herself from doing it. She dug her nails into her palm.

Part of her wondered why it was such a bad idea. Sure, maybe he did like Harriet, but if she kissed him, she wouldn't have to actually tell him anything about her feelings. He was smart enough to figure it out, and then everything would be cleared up between them. It would be awkward afterward, but she thought it seemed like an okay idea, especially when he was looking so damn good. The worried, concerned look brought out everything she liked in his face. His eyes, his _mouth…_

"_Emma_," he said, sounding very worried, and she snapped back to attention, her gaze moving up to his eyes. She realized she hadn't responded to his question. He was looking at her intently, eyes wide with concern.

"I'm fine." Her throat was constricted so it came out mostly as squeak, and she tried to say it again but couldn't. He gave her an extremely dubious look.

"You're sure?"

Emma nodded, figuring that was a better idea than trying to speak again. Grant raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response. When she said nothing, he cautiously continued.

"I can watch the kids until it's time to go if you need to take a break. You don't have to stand in the coat room. Unless you want to, that is."

Emma nodded, her eyes moving back to his mouth again. She couldn't help herself.

"I don't mind if it'll make you feel better," he said.

Emma nodded again. Grant paused and simply looked at her, and she couldn't look away. She didn't know what to do. Her thoughts were full of all the things she _couldn't _act upon.

"Emma," he said softly, leaning to place his palm on the wall next to her head, cutting away the rest of the daycare. He was looking at her intently, trying to discern what was wrong, obviously unconvinced by her answers, and Emma realized she was going to have to start pretending to be normal otherwise he would never leave, and she really would try to make out with him in the coat room.

She cleared her throat and ducked under his arm, moving to the other side of the coat room. She even managed a fake smile. "Really, I'm okay. I'll be out in a minute, I promise."

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her for another long minute, but he left her alone. Emma sagged back against the wall. Since she'd entered the daycare, her heart had never stopped pounding, and after those last few minutes she wouldn't have been surprised if her heartbeat was visible through her shirt.

After ten minutes of silent pep talks to herself in the coat room, she felt that she could reenter the main room. Grant's eyes instantly found hers. He looked very relieved. Emma couldn't blame him. She knew her behavior made her seem insane. He was probably glad that he had feelings for Harriet; _she_ never hid in coat rooms.

Emma forced herself to stop thinking about Grant and Harriet. She knew she was just going to have to accept the fact that she'd missed her chance and be happy for her friends.

She'd been too much of a coward to realize her feelings, and now she was too much of a coward to admit them to him. She knew she didn't really deserve Grant. He was too nice and good. Maybe Harriet would be more worthy of him.

She was gathering the children to go get their coats, and he walked over to help. He must have felt it was odd that they hadn't talked the whole day, except for the brief exchange in the coat closet, because he awkwardly started up a conversation.

"So you're done with finals then?"

Emma nodded, all false cheer and spirit. "I finished this morning and am now History free until next semester. What about you?"

"Me too." He broke out in a real smile. "Hey, Harriet got an A on her final." He laughed. "She ran in here and gave me this huge hug. I was really happy for her." He obviously thought Emma was interested in this information, although he couldn't have been more wrong. "She left before you came in," he finished, and Emma tried to keep from bursting into tears. Grant really was lost to her. He'd just given her irrefutable proof.

She could picture how it had happened perfectly. Harriet had rushed in on a burst of cold air, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes, looking beautiful and excited beyond belief. She'd thrown herself into Grant's arms, and he'd looked surprised and very pleased. Harriet had raised her head up, and after gazing at each other for a few moments, he'd leaned down to kiss her…

Emma thought she really was going to throw up. She could almost taste the bile in the back of her throat. Without a word of explanation or response to Grant she bolted to the coat room, her new sanctuary, and began dressing the children in their coats like a woman possessed. She buttoned, she zipped, she slipped gloves on fingers and she tied shoe laces. She did not think about Grant, and she did not think about Harriet, and she did not, under any circumstances, think about them together.

Emma felt wretched. No wonder Harriet had moped and eaten so much ice cream after all her bad dates; thwarted love was _horrible_! Emma didn't know what to do with herself.

She stalled for as long as she could. She sent the children out to Grant as fast as she could so that he wouldn't have to come back to help her. She couldn't handle seeing him at the moment.

She finished zipping up the last child's coat, and slowly walked with her outside to where Grant was waiting. She couldn't pretend any longer that something wasn't wrong, but as long as there was still a child around, he couldn't ask her any questions. When the van finally pulled into the parking lot, Emma sighed heavily, shoving her hands into her pockets. Her buffer was about to be taken away, and Emma still had no idea how to explain her behavior to Grant.

She couldn't tell him now that she loved him; he had feelings for Harriet. She was afraid if she told him her real feelings, he would pity her, and that was the one thing she couldn't stand. It would be much better that he never knew. But how was she to explain her strange behavior? He would never let her brush the issue aside.

The exhaust from the last mother's van hung in the air, and Emma concentrated on it fiercely, unwilling to look to the side at Grant. Everything was wrong, and all Emma wanted to do was curl up in the deepest part of the coat closet for a good cry.

As soon as the last car had pulled away, Grant walked over, invading the space she'd put between them. He looked as serious as she'd ever seen him. His eyes seemed sad, and he began without preamble.

"I heard about you and Frank. Emma, I know it's not really my business, but you seem so upset." Grant shrugged. "He's just a—a jerk. I know he hurt you, and you deserve better." The corners of his mouth turned down.

Emma's mouth dropped open the minute Grant said his first sentence, and she had just enough time to register the fact that they were talking about the end of her relationship with Frank, and then Grant stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, offering comfort.

She wasn't thinking about anything except how nice it felt. She didn't quite get it, but if he wanted to hold her like _that_, she wasn't going to complain. She brought her arms up, gripping the fabric of his jacket.

She felt their breathing sync, and she moved her chin from his shoulder, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She didn't want to move, but she felt compelled to tell him that he'd gotten things wrong. She didn't want Grant feeling worse about it than she did. Moreover, if he had feelings for Harriet, it wasn't fair for her to take advantage of him this way.

After one deep breath, she managed to disentangle herself from him.

"Knightley, I'm not upset about Frank," she said seriously, and she watched his eyebrows rise in surprise and hurried to continue. "I don't care about him at all actually. We ended on good terms."

Grant looked horribly confused, and he took a step back.

"At tutoring—I heard—" He trailed off. His mouth was working like he wanted to say more, but no sounds were coming out. Emma looked down at her feet and reluctantly continued. It was the very last thing that she wanted to talk about with Grant, but she felt she owed him an explanation. She didn't want him thinking she was wounded when she wasn't.

"I don't know what it seemed like, but we weren't ever dating. We're not even friends really." She sighed, not knowing what to say or how to say it. "I don't even know what that was with Frank, to tell you the truth. He gave me a lot of compliments and paid for drinks and dinners and so I went with it, which is stupid and shallow, I know." She cringed. Every sentence was making her realize how unworthy she was of Grant, but she had to say it all. She still couldn't look at him, so she continued talking to her shoes. "He doesn't mean anything to me, and I'm not upset."

She took a deep breath of the cold air and sneaked a look over at Grant, who was several feet away from her and deep in thought.

She made a lame attempt to change the subject. She didn't know why Grant was suddenly so quiet or what he was thinking about. It made her nervous.

"So finals…are finished."

"Yeah," Grant said distractedly, and then he was right in front of her. His eyes were bright, and he gave her an odd smile.

"You're not going to ask me this time if I was jealous?" He laughed, shaking his head. "No, of course not," he mumbled to himself, and Emma furrowed her brow. Was he saying he wasn't jealous because he had Harriet now? She felt a sharp pain in her chest. He opened his mouth to speak again, and this time Emma knew it was going to be about his new love. He had a tender look about his mouth that she'd never seen before.

"This is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done, but I think I'm going to do it anyway. I think I have to. Emma—"

"_Don't_. Don't say it," Emma interrupted in a bumbling rush. She panicked, breathing raggedly. She'd thought she could do it. She thought she could be a good sport and listen to him confess his feelings for Harriet, but she couldn't. Every cell in her body screamed against it, and the pain in her chest was already making it difficult to breathe. They were at the edge of something, and as long as he didn't go any further, they could still go back.

Grant froze, and he looked stricken, the expression of expectant hopes fading from his face. Pain was obvious in his eyes. He scuffed the ground lightly with his toe, no longer looking at her. "Right…no, you're right," he said quietly, almost to himself. After a moment he turned and went inside.

Emma was left standing alone in the cold, and she put her head in her hands, her palms pressed against her eyes. Everything was suddenly so wrong. One thing was for sure; this was not how she had expected his last day to pan out. She knew she'd hurt him. His crestfallen face wouldn't leave her mind. He had tried to share something meaningful with her, and she'd shut him down mercilessly and without explanation.

After all, he had absolutely no way to know how much she felt for him when she'd never said anything to prove it. He couldn't be blamed for wanting to share his happiness with another with her.

She simply had to bottle up her feelings and listen to what he had to say. She would feel bad for herself about it later. She might die once she got home, but she was going to put herself through it all anyway. She cared for him that much. She was going to do something for someone other than herself, for once. Her only motive was to make him happy.

Emma took a deep breath of the cold evening air and opened the door to the daycare. She went inside and hung up her coat. Grant was rather noisily stacking chairs, and his back was turned to her. She saw him tense at the sound of the door, but he didn't stop. She chewed at her lip anxiously, watching him for a few moments. He obviously was no longer inclined to talk. She would have to force him.

She moved to stand in front of him, but he doggedly continued with the chairs, never once looking at her. Emma scowled and finally grabbed his arms to get him to stop. He took a step back from her, looking annoyed. He avoided her eyes.

She was feeling worse with every moment that passed. There was so much distance between them. She didn't know how to amend it.

"Listen--I'm sorry. I shouldn't have cut you off like that. This isn't the way your last day should end. I just…" she trailed off. Everything she said was inadequate. He was staring into the distance over her left shoulder, his mouth set. It was the moment to tell him how she felt. She opened her mouth, trying to find the words. What could she say? 'I love you' seemed so trite, and he wasn't even receptive. Emma let the moment pass. He'd made his choice, and it was not her.

She looked down, shaking her head. Even if she couldn't have him, she still wanted to fix their friendship. "I'm a terrible friend. I know it. Just say what you were going to say. Please." She tried to not sound as desperate as she felt.

Grant let out an exasperated breath of air, muttering the word 'friend' bitterly as he looked heavenward, still avoiding her eyes.

The reaction was slow. She saw his face go blank first, the expression sliding away. She watched the slight drop of his mouth. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance. He blinked slowly and shut his mouth, looking resolved. Emma didn't understand. She had to follow his gaze.

Her heart lurched because Grant was looking at the mistletoe hanging ten feet away. She knew he was remembering their kiss from the day before. She'd forgotten to take it down after the Christmas party.

His eyes traveled down and met hers for the first time since they'd come inside, and she didn't have time to think anything. She only knew a second before he did it that he was going to.

"What the hell," he muttered under his breath, abandoning all reason. He stepped forward and pulled her up against him, the length of her body to his, hips and chests pressed together, his mouth hard on hers. It wasn't a gentle kiss. Emma was too shocked to do much, but after a moment she closed her eyes, leaning into the kiss.

When he released her, her mouth felt numb. They were both breathing hard, and his eyes were on her mouth. She could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His mouth looked slightly swollen. She thought hers probably did, as well.

He took a small step back and cleared his throat.

"I know that wasn't—you probably—sorry," he mumbled, looking down. He was beginning to look chagrined. Emma stared, eyes wide. It was the last thing she had expected him to do, but a strange new hope was burgeoning in her chest.

It was the first time she'd ever seen him rashly act on an impulse, and it had been for her. She didn't know what to say, but she did know what she wanted. And she wasn't about to let anyone apologize for a kiss like that.

She stepped forward and reached her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth the short distance down to hers. She felt him inhale in surprise and then the warm feeling spreading through her chest because he was kissing her back.

His hands cupped her face and then tangled in her long hair, and then they were kissing and kissing, getting rid of all the hurt and misunderstanding and repressed longing. Emma couldn't believe it was really happening. She didn't know how long they stood that way. The way their mouths moved together was completely addicting. When they finally broke apart, Emma felt like cooked noodles as he kissed her forehead, her jaw.

His eyes were bright. "I think I'm going to continue with what I tried to say outside earlier. Something tells me that it might get a better reception this time around."

Emma closed her eyes and laughed in self-deprecation. She deserved a medal for her ability to deceive herself. Of course Grant hadn't been talking about Harriet, but _her_ instead.

"Emma, I'm in love with you. I have been for years." He let out a breath of air after he said it, like he'd finally dropped a heavy weight he'd been carrying. Emma couldn't believe what she was hearing. She wanted a tape recorder so that she could play it over and over, again and again. Everything felt surreal.

She gave him a huge smile. "And I—I… me too." It was too new and too scary. She couldn't articulate it yet, but as always, he understood her.

Grant shook his head slightly, and Emma loved the slow smile that broke across his face. "I didn't think I'd ever hear that from you. I had literally no hope. If you'd told me ten minutes ago…" He leaned in to kiss her again, as though proving to himself that he actually could. Emma smiled against his mouth. Without the frenzied desperation of the last one, the kiss was simply intense. Emma knew she was flushing.

After a small eternity, he pulled away, his eyes taking in her features. "You were so set on being completely independent. I was always happy that you never dated anyone for more than a week, but I thought I would never have a chance. It was hopeless. I really thought you were never going to come around, and that I was just wasting my time waiting. You never seemed to _see_ me."

Emma knew it was true. She'd willfully ignored her feelings. She wasn't even certain of when she'd started to like him. There had always been the attraction, but she didn't know when it'd blossomed into something more. Maybe she hadn't loved him for as long, but her feelings were all the more intense for their novelty.

"I see you now," she said, and he smiled before looking at her warily.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but it was hell coming to work sometimes."

Emma closed her eyes briefly. After her experience today, she didn't doubt it. "I'm just surprised you lasted as long as you did."

He gave her a sad smile. "That's why I quit. I'd decided to stop liking you, and I had to keep away from you in order do that." Emma looked shocked, and he shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, it was useless. The feelings don't go away."

"What you're saying is that I'm like some kind of disease that you can't get away from?"

Grant huffed, shaking his head. "_No. _Of course not—I"

Emma smiled to show she was teasing. "So, what you're _really_ saying is that you're not quitting the daycare." She stood on her toes and kissed him before he could answer and then broke away. "Because there's obviously no need for you to leave now." She kissed him again. "The kids don't want you to leave, and I don't want to have to break in the new guy." When she kissed him this time, she felt him smile against her mouth.

"I'll call Mrs. Goddard on Monday and fix everything." He paused to look at her for a moment. "So what was going on with you today? I really thought you were having some kind of nervous break down."

Emma couldn't help laughing at herself. "Well, I _was_. I've been so stupid and blind. I thought I'd ruined everything, and that I'd waited too long. _That_'s what was wrong with me all day, not _Frank_. I thought I'd lost my chance with you. I finally realized what I felt, but I was too scared to tell you."

Grant laughed helplessly. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so happy.

They both seemed to realize at the same time that they were still standing in the daycare. Emma looked around, bemused.

"We should probably get out of here," she said, stepping away from him reluctantly. He nodded, and they quickly finished with the last of the cleaning for the day. It felt odd to be doing the same routine as always after such an extraordinary day.

"Do you want to come over for dinner?" Grant asked suddenly as they slipped on their coats.

"Sure," Emma replied, without a second thought, lifting her hair to wrap her scarf around her neck. "What are you making?"

Grant ran a hand through his hair and looked down, grinning, which was as close to bashful as she'd ever seen him. "I hadn't really thought it out that far."

Emma laughed, lacing her fingers with his as they stepped outside. "Look who's Mr. Impulsive now." She smiled up at him. "I guess we'll figure it out when we get there."


	12. Name of the Game

You Were the First Mile

By Luna

Chapter 12: Name of the Game

* * *

Emma waited nervously in the living room, chewing her bottom lip. Her hand itched to pick up her cell phone and dial Grant's number, just to hear his calm voice, but she already knew what she must do, and calling him wouldn't help her. She'd already let a perfectly good moment go by earlier in the morning, and she was about to run out of time.

She was waiting for Harriet, and she was steadily losing her nerve. Harriet had gone to finish packing away all her last minute items into her suitcase before she left for the winter break. Emma knew that Harriet's ride to the airport would be arriving at any moment. She only had a few minutes left to say what she needed to say. Emma tried to steel herself, but all she wanted to do was go hide in her room.

She couldn't get out of it; it had to be done. She had to tell Harriet that she was dating Grant.

She grimaced. It was a terrible situation. She was nonsensical with happiness about her new relationship with Grant, and yet she had snatched him away from her friend. She didn't want to hurt Harriet by dating Grant, and yet there was no way to stop herself from loving him now that she had properly come to her senses. It was a disaster. No matter what she did, Harriet was bound to be hurt.

Emma took a reluctant breath and called out to Harriet, who had entered the kitchen. Harriet stepped into the sitting room and sat at Emma's request, a questioning look on her face. It was the first time the girls had sat face to face since they'd argued. In the days following their argument, they'd seemed to have a tacit agreement not to talk about the fight.

They'd skulked, avoiding each other due to the awkwardness. The time that Emma was not at Grant's apartment she spent in her room. She'd even taken to eating at a later time than usual so as to avoid Harriet.

The tension was easing, however. Although the air between them had been a little colder than usual, they seemed to be returning to normal. This morning they had even shared a laugh in the kitchen, but now Emma was about to ruin it all.

Emma frowned but ploughed on with what she had to say. She looked down at her hands, playing idly with a loose string on her jeans.

"Harriet, you've become one of my closest friends, and I really don't know how to say this." She faltered, looking up into Harriet's blue eyes. Her throat closed and she had to swallow back the urge to cry. "I just want you to know that I never wanted you to get hurt."

Harriet's eyes were wide, and she looked touched and also a little apprehensive.

"After our argument the other day, I finally realized how I feel about Knightley. I'd been a fool not to realize that I was in love with him. I'm sorry for the way that I acted. I wasn't trying to insult you or imply anything. I was in shock, although that really isn't an excuse for anything…" she trailed off. "I went to talk to him at the daycare, and he feels the same way about me. We're together." Emma gulped. "I'm just so sorry that you're in the middle of it too," she said sincerely.

She didn't know what to expect; she was almost afraid to meet the other girl's eyes.

But Harriet's initial surprise was fading from her features. She looked off to the side, looking downtrodden but resigned. Emma greatly admired her lack of bitterness.

"I went to talk to him, too," Harriet said quietly, and she sighed. "After I talked with you I thought I should really check to make sure he liked me." She raised her shoulders in a reluctant shrug. "It was pretty obvious that he wasn't interested in me. I didn't _say_ anything, but I didn't need to. I could tell. It seemed pretty useless to go on liking him when there was obviously no chance for me. I think deep down I already knew that he wanted you." She looked sad. "I'm sorry, too. I realize you were trying to keep me from making a fool of myself."

Emma felt wretched. "No, I was just being selfish. I'm—I'm really sorry about the way this all worked out." She didn't think she was expressing everything she wanted. How to make Harriet know that she hadn't meant to take Grant away from her, how it hadn't been malicious or about winning the competition…

Harriet gave the slightest of shrugs. Before she could respond further, the intercom gave a buzz and Harriet jumped and hurried over to answer it.

"I'll be right down, Rob," Harriet said quickly. She gave Emma a harried look and ran to her room, only to return a minute later wearing her coat and gloves, a large duffel bag hanging from her shoulder.

"Who was that?" Emma asked quickly, and she thought she saw Harriet's mouth twitch slightly. She couldn't be sure, as half of Harriet's face was hidden by her hair. The voice on the intercom had been male.

Harriet brushed her hair back behind her ear slowly and adjusted the bag on her shoulder.

"It's Rob Martin." Emma couldn't blame Harriet for sounding defensive. "I ran into him while I was selling some of my books back the other day, and we got to talking. I hadn't seen him for a while and it was…it was nice," she finished lamely. "He's taking a flight home around the same time as me, and so we thought, why not carpool to the airport? That way we could split the parking cost." There was no doubt; Harriet was definitely trying not to smile now. She looked distinctly flustered.

Emma blinked away her surprise and felt herself breaking into a wide smile. Harriet let out a few giggles of her own. Neither of them were able to come up with anything more to say. The situation seemed clear enough.

"'Bye, Emma," Harriet said simply. She shrugged her shoulders and flashed Emma a brief smile before heading out the apartment door.

Emma fell back against the couch cushion. Her mind was racing, but where she had been filled with dread before, she was now filled with hope. Emma had assumed that Harriet's feelings for Grant were deep, but no, it had only been a crush. She hadn't ruined their friendship completely, after all. She hadn't even seriously dented it. Perhaps things had gotten a little shaken up, but Emma had no doubt that everything would settle on its own. She doubted Harriet would ever come to her for advice again, but that was as it should be. They would build a new friendship where they would both be on equal footing.

One thing was certain; she had been blind to not see that Harriet's real feelings had always been for Rob Martin.

Emma shook her head, musing. If she hadn't already lost her high opinion of herself regarding matters of the heart, she didn't think she would have been able to take this new development. Emma reviewed the past semester. After forcing Harriet away from Rob in the beginning, she'd convinced her to fall for horrible Phil. After that had inevitably ended in disaster, Emma had then inadvertently convinced Harriet to fall for someone equally unsuitable, only to turn around and take Grant for herself, leaving Harriet in the lurch yet again.

Despite it all, Emma still had hope for Harriet. Harriet had been upset and hurt by the Grant fiasco, but there didn't seem to be any permanent damage. And now Harriet was out with the one man that could possibly make everything better. All was not lost.

Emma couldn't help believing that this time, everything might just work out.

* * *

Taylor watched Emma shoveling the Thai noodles into her mouth with perplexity and a little disgust. They were on their weekly lunch date, this time a Thai restaurant. The place was nearly empty, and they could hear the twinkling water falling from the small fountain in the foyer and the idle conversation of the seating hostesses. Emma had picked it because she didn't want an audience eavesdropping on her conversation with Taylor, and she knew that this particular restaurant was never busy until the evening.

Taylor was watching Emma now with narrowed eyes as she gorged herself on her food. Emma was normally a dainty eater, and any etiquette teacher would have been appalled at the amount of food she was now shoveling into her mouth.

"Okay," Taylor said, laying down her fork. "You are acting like a maniac. You've eaten half of that plate already, and we only just got it. I know you're a nervous eater. What's going on?"

Emma chewed quickly and swallowed hard. She'd had a big enough mouthful to buy herself almost a minute of time to think while she chewed. She didn't know how her friend was going to react to the news she was about to tell her. The talk with Harriet had gone so surprisingly well that she could only hope for the same result from Taylor.

"ImdatingKnightley," she said quickly, so that it formed one, unintelligible word.

Taylor raised her eyebrow. "What now about Knightley?"

Emma took a deep breath. It was the moment of truth. She knew that Taylor liked Grant. She'd always said he was a wonderful man. At the same time, however, Taylor had never taken particularly well to any of Emma's flings throughout the years. She'd never actively disliked any of them, but she'd never expressed approval for any of them either. Would Taylor still like Grant once she knew that he was dating her best friend? More importantly, Emma didn't know how Taylor would react to her confessing _actual_ feelings for someone. Especially when that someone was Grant.

"I'm dating Knightley," Emma said slowly, with trepidation. She looked at her friend anxiously, gauging Taylor's reaction.

Taylor rolled her eyes and picked up her water to take a sip. "It's about time," was all she said while Emma gaped.

After a moment of silence,Taylor gave her a scolding look. "I thought you had something serious to tell me. You had me all worried."

Emma let out a breath of air. "You're not surprised? I thought you would be blown away. I was pretty blown away when it happened." She narrowed her eyes. "Why aren't you surprised?"

Taylor laughed. "Anyone with eyes could have told you how much that boy feels for you. I knew it was just a matter of time until you realized it, too. Congratulations on finally nabbing him, but really, I had no idea it would take you this long."

Emma looked at her, happily outraged. "If you knew, why didn't you tell _me_?" She pouted. "You could have saved me a lot of trouble."

Taylor laughed, throwing her head back. "Emma, I learned a long time ago not to try to tell you anything. If I'd said something about what I thought you felt, you would have denied it and gotten mad. Tell Grant I said good luck in dealing with all your stubbornness."

Emma shook her head, but she knew Taylor was right. She had to come to the realization all on her own. She felt a sudden wave of happiness course through her. Never, in all her years of dating, had all her friends given her such unanimous support for her relationship. It seemed obvious that she had finally gotten something right with Grant.

"So how did this miracle finally take place?" Taylor asked, grinning. "Did you have a near death experience and realize how you felt? Or did Grant just get _really_ drunk and finally confess everything to you?"

Emma threw her rolled up napkin at Taylor and gave her a scathing look. "Ouch. Thank you for thinking so highly of us."

Taylor dodged Emma's throw, laughing. "Kidding! I was only kidding." She smiled sweetly at Emma. "But really, I've been waiting for years for this to happen. Please give me the details."

Emma sighed, but she was itching to tell someone the minutia. She put down her fork, gearing up to tell the tale. She arched an eyebrow. "Well, Knightley and I were at the daycare…"

* * *

Emma tugged and kicked with her feet, pulling the sheet down away from her legs. She sighed loudly and scowled before she flopped her head against the pillow in agitation. She'd woken up sweating and feeling uncomfortably hot for the umpteenth morning in a row. The reason became obvious as she turned her head to the left and the curve of Grant's shoulder filled her vision. His breathing was deep and even and he seemed completely at peace, unlike Emma.

Sleeping next to him was like sleeping next to a volcano. The amount of heat he expended was unbelievable, and it made it impossible for Emma to fall back asleep. At some point during the night she had kicked off the comforter and other blankets, and now even without the sheet she was still sweating.

With another violent sigh, she gave it up as a lost cause and swung her legs off the bed. She stuffed her feet into slippers and padded out to the kitchen, blinking in the morning light. Emma stretched and yawned, musing. She was naturally an early riser and Grant was most certainly not. A _real_ boyfriend would have woken up before her and brought her scrambled eggs and toast in bed, but she knew if she tried to wake Grant up right now he would just grunt for her to leave him alone. The early morning hours seemed to bring out the grouch in him.

Emma yawned again as she moved through the kitchen, grabbing coffee grounds and a filter. Her sure movements betrayed how well she knew the kitchen, even though it wasn't her own. She'd certainly spent enough time at Grant's. She was as comfortable there as she was in her own apartment.

It was almost frightening how easily their relationship had transitioned from friendship into something more. Serious dating wasn't anything like she'd expected, she thought, as she stared at the coffee maker, which was gurgling away. She didn't feel tied down or smothered. She wasn't sick of spending time with Grant or tired of seeing him every day. She didn't feel like she was giving up any part of herself or losing anything from her single life. On the contrary, she felt that she was learning more about herself, seeing her actions reflected through Grant.

The wonderful thing was that she and Grant had already been very close. She didn't have to worry about finding some deep character flaw in him or about not feeling comfortable enough to trust him. She already knew both the bad and the good in him. He was everything that he'd been as a friend, only more so.

Emma smiled, pulling out two bowls from the cabinet. It was a beautiful winter morning. A layer of frost covered the bottom portion of the windowpane, making Emma feel thankful that she'd be spending the day inside with Grant. With that thought, she turned her head toward the stove. The clock on the microwave said it was nearly 10:30, and Emma wasn't about to eat her cereal by herself; grouchy or not, she was going to wake him up.

She wandered back to the bedroom, whisking the curtains back from the window. The bright sunlight lit up the room, and Grant groaned, pulling her pillow over his face.

Despite the perks, dating someone wasn't all peaches and rosebuds, Emma thought, putting her hands on her hips. She narrowed her eyes before maneuvering the pillow out of his hands. He groaned again, covering his eyes with an arm.

It was difficult getting used to someone else's quirks and habits. Grant was still as infuriating, still as stubborn. He was still inclined to think he was right all the time, forcing Emma to continually make attempts to prove him wrong. Worst was when he _was_ right. He never gloated the way Emma would have, but this lack of boasting made Emma equally as mad as if he had rubbed it in. Their disagreements seemed to have reached a new level of stupidity since they began dating. Despite it all, however, Emma wouldn't have traded having Grant in her life for anything. Although perhaps at the moment, he felt differently about having her in his.

In one swift motion, she'd pulled all the covers off of Grant to the edge of the bed.

"Emma," he growled, without moving.

Emma, in contrast, used her sweetest voice. "Knightley, I made us cereal. It's going to get soggy and disgusting unless you get up." She plopped down on the bed next to him, ruffling his hair.

He moved his arm to look at her with sleepy eyes. She gave him her most winsome smile. He shook his head, looking bemused. "You're not ever going to call me Grant, are you?" It wasn't a statement; he sounded certain.

Emma blinked, surprised. "What? I do," she insisted, but then she rolled her eyes. "Sometimes," she added as an afterthought.

Grant propped himself up on his elbows slightly, as though to emphasize his incredulous look. "That's completely false."

Emma huffed, standing up from the bed. "It is _not_. I do, too. I _do_," she added as he continued to look unconvinced.

He fell against the pillow again. "Right. Only when you're trying to get out of something you've done or when you think I'm mad at you."

Emma put her hands on her hips, but she stayed silent. She tapped her toe a few times on the floor, and after a moment, Grant moved his arm to cover his eyes again. Emma tossed her hair off her shoulder, moving toward the bedroom door. She turned back as she reached the frame.

"Grant," she said slowly, drawing his name out. "Do you want apple juice or orange juice?"

His eyes were hidden, but she watched the slow smile break across his face. After a moment he sat up fully for the first time, looking Emma over as she stood in the doorway wearing an oversized t-shirt and a particularly smug smile. She waggled her eyebrows up and down for emphasis. She turned on her toes before he had time to answer and headed for the kitchen.

He shook his head lightly in resignation.

"Orange juice," he finally called, swinging his long legs off the bed to follow Emma, and from her spot in the kitchen, Emma smiled.

* * *

AN: The End!

Thank you for reading and especially for reviewing. I loved writing this story, and I hope you loved reading it. I really appreciate all comments or criticisms.

I do have plans for a Persuasion based fic, but I have no idea when I'll get around to writing it. Probably in about 4 years in an attempt to avoid writing my dissertation...

'Til then


End file.
